The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XL

  THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS

  Pete did not return to the veranda to finish his puzzle game withlittle Ruth. He smiled rather grimly as he realized that he had apuzzle game of his own to solve. He lay on the cot and his eyes closedas he reviewed the vivid events in his life, from the beginning of thetrail, at Concho, to its end, here in El Paso. It seemed to spread outbefore him like a great map: the desert and its towns, the hills andmesas, trails and highways over which men scurried like black and redants, commingling, separating, hastening off at queer tangents, meetingin combat, disappearing in crevices, reappearing and setting off againin haste, searching for food, bearing strange burdens, scramblingblindly over obstacles--collectively without seeming purpose--yetindividually bent upon some quest, impetuous and headstrong in theirstrange activities. "And gittin' nowhere," soliloquized Pete, "exceptin trouble."

  He thought of the letter from Bailey, and, sitting up, re-read itslowly. So Steve Gary had survived, only to meet the inevitable end ofhis kind. Well, Gary was always hunting trouble . . . Roth, thestorekeeper at Concho, ought to have the number of that gun which Petepacked. If the sheriff of Sanborn was an old-timer he would know thata man who packed a gun for business reasons did not go round thecountry experimenting with different makes and calibers. Only the"showcase" boys in the towns swapped guns. Ed Brevoort had always useda Luger. Pete wondered if there had been any evidence of the caliberof the bullet which had killed Brent. If the sheriff were an old-timersuch evidence would not be overlooked.

  Pete got up and wandered out to the veranda. The place was deserted.He suddenly realized that those who were able had gone to their noonmeal. He had forgotten about that. He walked back to his room and saton the edge of his cot. He was lonesome and dispirited. He was nothungry, but he felt decidedly empty. This was the first time thatDoris had allowed him to miss a meal, and it was her fault! She mighthave called him. But what did she care? In raw justice to her--why_should_ she care?

  Pete's brooding eyes brightened as Doris came in with a tray. She hadthought that he had rather have his dinner there. "I noticed that youdid not come down with the others," she said.

  Pete was angry with himself. Adam-like he said he wasn't hungry anyhow.

  "Then I'll take it back," said Doris sweetly,

  Adam-like, Pete decided that he was hungry. "Miss Gray," he blurted,"I--I'm a doggone short-horn! I'm goin' to eat. I sure want to squaremyself."

  "For what?"

  Doris was gazing at him with a serene directness that made him feelthat his clothing was several sizes too large for him. He realizedthat generalities would hardly serve his turn just then.

  "I was settin' here feelin' sore at the whole doggone outfit," heexplained. "Sore at you--and everybody."

  "Well?" said Doris unsmilingly.

  "I'm askin' you to forgit that I was sore at you." Pete was notordinarily of an apologetic turn, and he felt that he pretty thoroughlysquared himself.

  "It really doesn't matter," said Doris, as she placed his tray on thetable and turned to go.

  "I reckon you're right." And his dark eyes grew moody again.

  "There's a man in the reception-room waiting to see you," said Doris."I told him you were having your dinner."

  "Another one, eh? Oh, I was forgittin'. I got a letter from JimBailey"--Pete fumbled in his shirt--"and I thought mebby--"

  "I hope it's good news."

  "It sure is! Would you mind readin' it--to yourself--sometime?"

  "I--think I'd rather not," said Doris hesitatingly.

  Pete's face showed so plainly that he was hurt that Doris regretted herrefusal to read the letter. To make matters worse--for himself--Peteasked that exceedingly irritating and youthful question, "Why?" whichelicits that distinctly unsatisfactory feminine answer, "Because."That lively team "Why" and "Because" have run away with more chariotsof romance, upset more matrimonial bandwagons, and spilled more beansthan all the other questions and answers men and women have utteredsince that immemorial hour when Adam made the mistake of asking Eve whyshe insisted upon his eating an apple right after breakfast.

  Doris was not indifferent to his request that she read the letter, butshe was unwilling to let Pete know it, and a little fearful that hemight interpret her interest for just what it was--the evidence of agreater solicitude for his welfare than she cared to have him know.

  Pete, like most lusty sons of saddle-leather, shied at even the shadowof sentiment--in this instance shying at his own shadow. He rode wideof the issue, turning from the pleasant vista of who knows whatimaginings, to face the imperative challenge of immediate necessity,which was, first, to eat something, and then to meet the man who waitedfor him downstairs who, Pete surmised, was the sheriff of SanbornCounty.

  "If you don't mind tellin' him I'll come down as soon as I eat," saidPete as he pulled up a chair.

  Doris nodded and turned to leave. Pete glanced up. She had not gone."Your letter,"--and Doris proffered the letter which he had left on thecot. Pete was about to take it when he glanced up at her. She wassmiling at him. "You don't know how funny you look when you frown andact--like--like a spoiled child," she laughed. "Aren't you ashamed ofyourself?"

  "I--I reckon I am," said Pete, grinning boyishly.

  "Ashamed of yourself?"

  "Nope! A spoiled kid, like you said. And I ain't forgittin' whospoiled me."

  The letter, the man downstairs and all that his presence implied, pastand future possibilities, were forgotten in the brief glance that Dorisgave him as she turned in the doorway. And glory-be, she had taken theletter with her! Pete gazed about the room to make sure that he wasnot dreaming. No, the letter had disappeared--and but a moment agoDoris had had it. And she still had it. "Well, she'll know I got oneor two friends, anyhow," reflected Pete as he ate his dinner. "Whenshe sees how Jim talks--and what he said Ma Bailey has to say tome--mebby she'll--mebby--Doggone it! Most like she'll just hand itback and smile and say she's mighty glad--and--but that ain't no signthat I'm the only guy that ever got shot up, and fixed up, and turnedloose by a sure-enough angel . . . Nope! She ain't a angel--she'sreal folks, like Ma Bailey and Andy and Jim. If I ain't darned carefulI'm like to find I done rid my hoss into a gopher-hole and got throwedbad."

  Meanwhile "the man downstairs" was doing some thinking himself. Thatmorning he had visited police headquarters and inspected Pete's gun andbelongings--noting especially the hand-carved holster and theheavy-caliber gun, the factory number of which he jotted down in hisnotebook. Incidentally he had borrowed a Luger automatic from themiscellaneous collection of weapons taken from criminals, assuredhimself that it was not loaded, and slipped it into his coat-pocket.Later he had talked with the officials, visited the Mexicanlodging-house, where he had obtained a description of the man who hadoccupied the room with Pete, and stopping at a restaurant for coffeeand doughnuts, had finally arrived at the hospital prepared to hearwhat young Annersley had to say for himself.

  Sheriff Jim Owen, unofficially designated as "Sunny Jim" because of anamiable disposition, which in no way affected his officialresponsibilities, was a dyed-in-the-wool, hair-cinched, range-branded,double-fisted official, who scorned nickel-plated firearms, hard-boiledhats, fancy drinks, and smiled his contempt for the rubber-heeledmethods of the city police. Sheriff Owen had no rubber-heeledtendencies. He was frankness itself, both in peace and in war. It wasonce said of him, by a lank humorist of Sanborn, that Jim Owen neverwasted any time palaverin' when _he_ was flirtin' with death. That hejust met you with a gun in one hand and a smile in the other, and youcould take your choice--or both, if you was wishful.

  The sheriff was thinking, his hands crossed upon his rotund stomach andhis bowed legs as near crossed as they could ever be without anoperation. He was pretty well satisfied that the man upstairs, whothat pretty little nurse had said would be down in a few minutes, hadnot killed Sam Brent. He had a few pertinent reasons for thisconclusion. First, Brent h
ad been killed by a thirty-caliber,soft-nosed bullet, which the sheriff had in his vest-pocket. Then,from what he had been told, he judged that the man who actually killedBrent would not have remained in plain sight in the lodging-housewindow while his companion made his get-away. This act alone seemed toindicate that of the two the man who had escaped was in the greaterdanger if apprehended, and that young Annersley had generously offeredto cover his retreat so far as possible. Then, from the lodging-housekeeper's description of the other man, Jim Owen concluded that he waseither Ed Brevoort or Slim Harper, both of whom were known to have beenriding for the Olla. And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort'srecord.

  Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determinedto get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said andsee how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of thekilling of Brent. He was mentally piecing together possibilities andprobabilities, and the exact evidence he had, when Pete walked into thereception-room.

  "Have a chair," said Sheriff Owen. "I got one."

  "I'm Pete Annersley," said Pete. "Did you want to see me?"

  "Thought I'd call and introduce myself. I'm Jim Owen to my friends.I'm sheriff of Sanborn County to others."

  "All right, Mr. Owen," said Pete, smiling in spite of himself.

  "That's the idea--only make it Jim. Did you ever use one of these?"And suddenly Sheriff Owen had a Luger automatic in his hand. Petewondered that a man as fat as the little sheriff could pull a gun soquickly.

  "Why--no. I ain't got no use for one of them doggone stutterin'smoke-wagons."

  "Here, too," said Owen, slipping the Luger back into his pocket."Never shot one of 'em in my life. Ever try one?"

  "I--" Pete caught himself on the verge of saying that he had tried EdBrevoort's Luger once. He realized in a flash how close the sheriffhad come to trapping him. "I never took to them automatics," heasserted lamely.

  Pete had dodged the question. On the face of it this looked as thoughPete might have been trying to shield himself by disclaiming anyknowledge of that kind of weapon. But Owen knew the type of man he wastalking to--knew that he would shield a companion even more quicklythan he would shield himself.

  "Sam Brent was killed by a bullet from a Luger," stated Owen.

  Pete's face expressed just the faintest shade of relief, but he saidnothing.

  "I got the bullet here in my pocket. Want to see it?" And before Petecould reply, the sheriff fished out the flattened and twisted bulletand handed it to Pete, who turned it over and over, gazing at itcuriously.

  "Spreads out most as big as a forty-five," said Pete, handing it back.

  "Yes--but it acts different. Travels faster--and takes more along withit. Lot of 'em used in Texas and across the line. Ever have wordswith Sam Brent?"

  "No. Got along with him all right."

  "Did he pay your wages reg'lar?"

  "Yes."

  "Ever have any trouble with a man named Steve Gary?"

  "Yes, but he's--"

  "I know. Used to know the man that got him. Wizard with a gun.Meaner than dirt--"

  "Hold on!" said Pete. "He was my friend."

  "--to most folks," continued the rotund sheriff. "But I've heard saidhe'd do anything for a man he liked. Trouble with him was he didn'tlike anybody."

  "Mebby he didn't," said Pete indifferently.

  "Because he couldn't trust anybody. Ever eat ice-cream?"

  "Who--me?"

  The sheriff smiled and nodded.

  "Nope. Ma Bailey made some onct, but--"

  "Let's go out and get some. It's cooling and refreshing andit's--ice-cream. Got a hat?"

  "Up in my room."

  "Go get it. I'll wait."

  "You mean?"--and Pete hesitated.

  "I don't mean anything. Heard you was going for a walk this afternoon.Thought I'd come along. Want to get acquainted. Lonesome. Nobody totalk to. Get your hat."

  "Suppose I was to make a break--when we git outside?" said Pete.

  Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That little nurse,the one with the gray eyes--that said you were having dinner--is sheyour reg'lar nurse?"

  Pete nodded.

  "Well, you won't," said the sheriff.

  "How's that?" queried Pete.

  "I talked with her. Sensible girl. Break _her_ all up if her patientwas to make a break:--because"--and the sheriff's eyes ceased totwinkle, although he still smiled--"because I'd have to break _you_ allup. Hate to do it. Hate to make her feel bad."

  "Oh, shucks," said Pete.

  "You're right--shucks. That's what you'd look like. I pack aforty-five--same as you. We can buy a hat--"

  "I'll get it." And Pete left the room.

  He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not comehalf so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understandingPete. But Pete understood one thing--and that was that Jim Owen wasnot an easy proposition to fool with.

  "Now where do we head for?" said Owen as they stood at the foot of thehospital steps.

  "I was goin' to the bank--the Stockmen's Security."

  "Good bank. You couldn't do better. Know old E.H. myself. Used toknow him better--before he got rich. No--this way. Short cut. Yougot to get acquainted with your legs again, eh? Had a close call. Alittle shaky?"

  "I reckon I kin make it."

  "Call a cab if you say the word."

  "I--I figured I could walk," said Pete, biting his lips. But a fewmore steps convinced him that the sheriff was taking no risk whateverin allowing him his liberty.

  "Like to see old E.H. myself," stated the sheriff. "Never rode in acab in my life. Let's try one."

  And the sprightly sheriff of Sanborn County straightway hailed alanguorous cabby who sat dozing on the "high seat" of a coupe to whichwas attached the most voluptuous-looking white horse that Pete had everseen. Evidently the "hospital stand" was a prosperous center.

  "We want to go to the Stockmen's Security Bank," said the sheriff, asthe coupe drew up to the curb. The driver nodded.

  Pete leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. Owenglanced at him and shook his head. There was nothing vicious or brutalin that face. It was not the face of a killer.

  Pete sat up suddenly. "I was forgittin' I was broke," and he turned toOwen.

  "No. There's sixty-seven dollars and two-bits of yours over at thestation, along with your gun and a bundle of range clothes."

  "I forgot that."

  "Feel better?"

  "Fine--when I'm settin' still."

  "Well, we're here. Go right in. I'll wait."

  Pete entered the bank and inquired for the president, giving theattendant his name in lieu of the card for which he was asked. He wasshown in almost immediately, and a man somewhat of The Spider's typeassured him that he was the president and, as he spoke, handed Pete aslip of paper such as Pete had never before seen.

  "You're Peter Annersley?" queried Hodges.

  "Yes. What's this here?"

  "It's more money than I'd want to carry with me on the street," saidHodges. "Have you anything that might identify you?"

  "What's the idee?"

  "Mr. Ewell had some money with us that he wished transferred to you, incase anything happened to him. I guess you know what happened." Thenreflectively, "Jim was a queer one."

  "You mean The Spider wanted me to have this?"

  "Yes. That slip of paper represents just twenty-four thousand dollarsin currency. If you'll just endorse it--"

  "But it ain't my money!" said Pete.

  "You're a fool if you don't take it, young man. From what I have heardyou'll need it. It seems that Jim took a fancy to you. Said you hadplayed square with him--about that last deposit, I suppose. You don'thappen to have a letter with you, from him, I suppose, do you?"

  "I got this,"--and Pete showed President Hodges The Spider's note,which Hodges read and returned. "That was like Jim. He wouldn
'tlisten to me."

  "And this was his money?" Pete was unable to realize the significanceof it all.

  "Yes. Now it's yours. You're lucky! Mighty lucky! Just endorse thedraft--right here. I'll have it cashed for you."

  "Write my name?"

  "Yes, your full name, here."

  "And I git twenty-four thousand dollars for this?"

  "If you want to carry that much around with you. I'd advise you todeposit the draft and draw against it."

  "If it's mine, I reckon I'd like to jest git it in my hands onct,anyhow. I'd like to see what that much money feels like."

  Pete slowly wrote his name, thinking of The Spider and Pop Annersley ashe did so. Hodges took the draft, pressed a button, and a clerkappeared, took the draft, and presently returned with the money in goldand bank-notes of large denomination.

  When he had gone out, Hodges turned to Pete. "What are you going to dowith it? It's none of my business--now. But Jim and I werefriends--and if I can do anything--"

  "I reckon I'll put it back in--to my name," said Pete. "I sure ain'tscared to leave it with you--for The Spider he weren't."

  Hodges smiled grimly, and pressed a button on his desk. "New account,"he told the clerk.

  Pete sighed heavily when the matter had been adjusted, theidentification signature slips signed, and the bank-book made out inhis name.

  Hodges himself introduced Pete at the teller's window, thanked Peteofficially for patronizing the bank, and shook hands with him. "Anytime you need funds, just come in--or write to me," said Hodges."Good-bye, and good luck."

  Pete stumbled out of the bank and down the steps to the sidewalk. Hewas rich--worth twenty-four thousand dollars! But why had The Spiderleft this money to him? Surely The Spider had had some otherfriend--or some relative . . . ?

  "Step right in," said Sheriff Owen. "You look kind of white. Feelingshaky?"

  "Some."

  "We want to go to the General Hospital," said the sheriff.

  Pete listened to the deliberate plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk of the whitemare's large and capable feet as the cab whirred softly along thepavement. "I suppose you'll be takin' me over to Sanborn right soon,"he said finally.

  "Well, I expect I ought to get back to my family," said the sheriff.

  "I didn't kill Sam Brent," asserted Pete.

  "I never thought you did," said the sheriff, much to Pete's surprise.

  "Then what's the idee of doggin' me around like I was a blame coyote?"

  "Because you have been traveling in bad company, son. And some one inthat said company killed Sam Brent."

  "And I got to stand for it?"

  "Looks that way. I been all kinds of a fool at different times, butI'm not fool enough to ask you who killed Sam Brent. But I advise youto tell the judge and jury when the time comes."

  "That the only way I kin square myself?"

  "I don't say that. But it will help."

  "Then I don't say."

  "Thought you wouldn't. It's a case of circumstantial evidence. Brentwas found in that cactus forest near the station. The same night twomen rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable.These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing.Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street. One ofthem--and this is the queer part of it--got away after shooting hispardner. The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreledabout money--"

  "That's about all they know. Ed and me never--"

  "You don't mean Ed Brevoort, do you?"

  "There's more 'n one Ed in this country."

  "There sure is. Old E.H. Hodges--he's Ed; and there's Ed Smally on theforce here, and Ed Cummings, the preacher over to Sanborn. Lots ofEds. See here, son. If you want to get out of a bad hole, thequickest way is for you to tell a straight story. Save us both time.Been visiting with you quite a spell."

  "Reckon we're here," said Pete as the cab stopped.

  "And I reckon you're glad of it. As I was saying, we been having quitea visit--getting acquainted. Now if you haven't done anything the lawcan hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the betterit will be for you. Think that over. If you can prove you didn't killBrent, then it's up to me to find out who did. Get a good sleep. I'lldrift round sometime to-morrow."

  Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of thelittle bank-book in his pocket. He wondered who would stop him if hewere to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, andleave town. He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting arecurrent temptation to make his escape.

  He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand. "That's theonly fella that kin stop me," he told himself. And he thought of EdBrevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need ofmoney.

  Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glancedat Pete's flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took hispulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes thebusy physician. "A little temperature. Been out today?"

  "For a couple of hours."

  Andover nodded. "Well, young man, you get right into bed."

  The surgeon closed the door. Pete undressed grumblingly.

  "Now turn over. I want to look at your back. M-mm! Thought so. Alittle feverish. Did you walk much?"

  "Nope! We took a rig. I was with the sheriff."

  "I see! Excitement was a little too much for you. You'll have to goslow for a few days."

  "I'm feelin' all right," asserted Pete.

  "You think you are. How's your appetite?"

  "I ain't hungry."

  Andover nodded. "You'd better keep off your feet to-morrow."

  "Shucks, Doc! I'm sick of this here place!"

  Andover smiled. "Well, just between ourselves, so am I. I've beenhere eight years. By the way, how would you like to take a ride withme, next Thursday? I expect to motor out to Sanborn."

  "In that machine I seen you in the other day?"

  "Yes. New car. I'd like to try her out on a good straightaway--andthere's a pretty fair road up on this end of the mesa."

  "I'd sure like to go! Say, Doc, how much does one of them automobilescost?"

  "Oh, about three thousand, without extras."

  "How fast kin you go?"

  "Depends on the road. My car is guaranteed to do seventy-five on thelevel."

  "Some stepper! You could git to Sanborn and back in a couple of hours."

  "Not quite. I figure it about a four-hour trip. I'd be glad to haveyou along. Friend of mine tells me there's a thoroughbred saddle-horsethere that is going to be sold at auction. I've been advertising for ahorse for my daughter. You might look him over and tell me what youthink of him."

  "I reckon I know him already," said Pete.

  "How's that?"

  "'Cause they's no thoroughbred stock around Sanborn. If it's the oneI'm thinkin' about, it was left there by a friend of mine."

  "Oh--I see! I remember, now. Sanborn is where you--er--took the trainfor El Paso?"

  "We left our hosses there--same as the paper said."

  "H-mm! Well, I suppose the horse is to be sold for charges. Sheriff'ssale, I understand."

  "Oh, you're safe in buyin' _him_ all right. And he sure is a good one."

  "Well, I'll speak to the chief. I imagine he'll let you go with me."

  Pete shook his head. "Nope. He wouldn't even if he had the say. Butthe sheriff of Sanborn County has kind of invited me to go over therefor a spell. I guess he figured on leavin' here in a couple of days."

  "He can't take you till I certify that you're able to stand thejourney," said Andover brusquely.

  "Well, he's comin' to-morrow. I'm dead sick of stayin' here. Can'tyou tell him I kin travel?"

  "We'll see how you feel to-morrow. Hello! Here's Miss Gray. What,six o'clock! I had no idea . . . Yes, a little temperature, MissGray. Too much excitement. A little surface inflammation--not
hingserious. A good night's rest and he'll be a new man. Good-night."

  Pete was glad to see Doris. Her mere presence was restful. He sighedheavily, glanced up at her and smiled. "A little soup, Miss Gray.It's awful excitin'. Slight surface inflammation on them boiled beets.Nothin' serious--they ain't scorched. A good night's rest and thecook'll be a new man tomorrow. Doc Andover is sure all right--but Ialways feel like he was wearin' kid gloves and was afraid of gittin''em dirty, every time he comes in."

  Doris was not altogether pleased by Pete's levity and her face showedit. She did not smile, but rearranged the things on the tray in apreoccupied manner, and asked him if there was anything else he wanted.

  "Lemme see?" Pete frowned prodigiously. "Got salt and pepper andbutter and sugar; but I reckon you forgot somethin' that I'm wantin' awhole lot."

  "What is it?"

  "You're forgittin' to smile."

  "I read that letter from Mr. Bailey."

  "I'm mighty glad you did, Miss Gray. I wanted you to know what was inthat letter. You'd sure like Ma Bailey, and Jim and Andy. Andy was mypardner--when--afore I had that trouble with Steve Gary. No use tryin'to step round it now. I reckon you know all about it."

  "And you will be going back to them--to your friends on the ranch?"

  "Well--I aim to. I got to go over to Sanborn first."

  "Sanborn? Do you mean--?"

  "Jest what you're thinkin', Miss Gray. I seen a spell back how you waswonderin' that I could josh about my grub, and Doc Andover. Well, Igot in bad, and I ain't blamin' nobody--and I ain't blamin' myself--andthat's why I ain't hangin' my head about anything I done. And I ain'tkickin' because I got started on the wrong foot. _I'm_ figurin' how Ikin git started on the other foot--and keep a-goin'."

  "But why should you tell me about these things? I can't help you. Andit seems terrible to think about them. If I were a man--like Dr.Andover--"

  "I reckon you're right," said Pete. "I got no business loadin' you upwith all my troubles. I'm goin' to quit it. Only you been kind o'like a pardner--and it sure was lonesome, layin' here and thinkin'about everything, and not sayin' a word to nobody. But I jest want youto know that I didn't kill Sam Brent--but I sure would 'a' got him--ifsomebody hadn't been a flash quicker than me, that night. Brent wasafter the money we was packin', and he meant business."

  "You mean that--some one killed him in self-defense?"

  "That's the idee. It was him or us."

  "Then why don't you tell the police that?"

  "I sure aim to. But what they want to know is who the fella was thatgot Brent."

  "But the papers say that the other man escaped."

  "Which is right."

  "And you won't tell who he is?"

  "Nope."

  "But why not--if it means your own freedom?"

  "Mebby because they wouldn't believe me anyhow."

  "I don't think that is your real reason. Oh, I forgot to return yourletter. I'll bring it next time."

  "I'll be goin' Thursday. Doc Andover he's goin' over to Sanborn and heast me to go along with him."

  "You mean--to stay?"

  "For a spell, anyhow. But I'm comin' back."

  Doris glanced at her wrist watch and realized that it was long past thehour for the evening meal. "I'm going out to my sister's to-morrow,for the day. I may not see you before you leave,"

  Pete sat up. "Shucks! Well, I ain't sayin' thanks for what you donefor me, Miss Gray. 'Thanks' sounds plumb starvin' poor and rattlin',side of what I want to tell you. I'd be a'most willin' to git shotag'in--"

  "Don't say that!" exclaimed Doris.

  "I would be shakin' hands with you," said Pete. "But this here is just'Adios,' for I'm sure comin' back."