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In spite of the fact that Cannondale was the county seat, and that it had also the advantage of being on the transcontinental railroad, it had always remained just a cow town.

Main Street, little over a block in length, was the business center. It was paralleled by Madison and North Streets. Madison was given over to one or two boarding houses, a few cottages, and many empty lots. North Street was closely lined with Mexican shacks. State and Depot Streets intersected Main.

The town had three hotels, two large, combination dance-and-gambling halls, and ten smaller saloons. Of the gambling halls the Red Queen was far the most pretentious. Located in the center of the block on Main Street, it was really the hub of the whole town.

On the day before the trial of Pete Cable for murder the Red Queen was doing a land-office business, for Dame Rumor had been busy, and it was freely predicted that there was bound to be trouble at the trial.

Just what form this trouble would take no one seemed to know, but a murder trial, with the added attraction of a possible jail breaking or lynching, was sufficient to send every able-bodied man within riding distance scurrying into town.

Thus, on this occasion, every hotel was full and the hitching racks along Main Street were lined with horses and buckboards; crowds milled about the courthouse, surged in and out of saloons, gathered in hotel lobbies and in the street, drank, sang, and excitedly discussed the coming trial. The general opinion was that Pete Cable would hang. In spite of this, however, odds were offered freely in the Red Queen that the accused man would be acquitted.

In the late afternoon, “Tad” Hicks, “Windy Sam,” and “Kansas” Jones, three Frying Pan punchers, rode into town. They tied their horses to the hitch rack of Moe’s Emporium and went across the street to the Comfort House. They pushed through the crowd at the bar and shouted for a drink. But, having thirstily downed that, they refused a second round virtuously. They had been ordered by their boss, Sam Hogg, to remain sober until after the transcontinental train arrived. Now they swaggered down Main Street; and as they passed the Hogg Hardware Store, run by Sam’s brother, its owner greeted them.

“Howdy, boys. This town’s so durned full of strangers, and I’m so glad to see a gent what I know, that I’ll buy yuh a drink,” Jim Hogg said heartily.

“Yuh’re durn right. She’s so full of strangers I don’t know her,” Windy agreed.

“An’ they is all bad-lookin’ hombres,” Kansas said. Suddenly he was struck with an idea and he added hopefully: “Do yuh reckon there’s anything in this talk about the Lava Gang bustin’ up the trial to-morrow?”

“Hello, Toothpick, you ole hoss thief!” Kansas hailed a passing rider.

Toothpick Jarrick pulled in his pony and edged it toward the sidewalk. The pony’s head drooped; its coat was rough with dried sweat and dust. Its rider’s genial, grinning face was streaked with grime; dust covered his jeans. Both he and the pony bore evidence of having come far and fast that day.

“’Lo,” he greeted. “Mr. Hogg, ain’t yuh afraid of being seen with three mutton eaters like them jaspers?”

“Howdy, Toothpick. Hit the ground and have a drink,” Jim Hogg invited.

Toothpick shook his head and turned his horse into the street again.

“Where yuh been all week?” Windy asked.

“Me? Fellow, I’ve been playin’ the messenger of destiny.” Toothpick grinned over his shoulder as he headed his horse toward the livery stable.

“Darn idiot!” Jim Hogg spluttered as the four lined up at the bar of the Lone Star. “I’m plumb sick of this here mystery. My brother Sam is packin’ a gun under his vest and another on his hip. The sheriff is nutty with worry, an’ if yuh ask him anything he looks sick and scared. Tough hombres drift into town, and the sheriff gets him more deputies. I hear gents betting the judge don’t dare come back to town, and now I hears he’s due to arrive. I’m bettin’ Sam sent yuh boys to town to help guard him when he comes in.”

“Safe bet,” Windy admitted, “for he sure enough told us plain to stay sober and meet him at the depot.”

“Why for, did he tell yuh? Not any!” Jim Hogg continued his complaint. “Yuh can’t talk natural without some gent sayin’, ‘Hush!’ Toothpick disappears and comes back an’ says he’s the ‘messenger of destiny.’ What in blazes did he mean by that, and where’s he been for the last six days? Lava Gang! Why, this town is gettin’ so scared it’s going to drop dead of heart failure, an’ if yuh ask some one what he thinks, he looks over his shoulder and says, ‘Hush.’ Maybe yuh boys knows what it’s all about.”

Windy put his finger to his lips, looked over his shoulder, then whispered: “This here town is goin’ to have its sins wiped out, like Sodom an’ Gomore.”

“Yuh dang fool!” Hogg spluttered.

Here the bartender cut in. “I ain’t boastin’ that I knows anything, but I’ve kept bar all over this here territory, an’ I’m tellin’ yuh I never see so many tough gangs gathered together as they is in this town. Hell is sure goin’ to pop.”

“Why? How? When?” The irate little storekeeper shot out his questions like a machine gun. “What makes yuh think so?”

“Feel it in my bones,” the bartender hedged mysteriously.

They left the bar and headed toward the station.

The arrival of the Limited was a big event in Cannondale, and a large group of loafers always watched it hurl itself across the prairie and come to an impatient stop at the little station. On this night the three riders found nearly a hundred people lounging there. Sam Hogg was walking up and down impatiently and talking to Tim Lynch, owner of the Lone Star Saloon. The three punchers found perches on a baggage truck, rolled their cigarettes, and looked about for some one to annoy.

They saw Toothpick and the sheriff whispering together in the shadow of the freight house, but the lanky cow-puncher was too quick on the come-back for their taste, and Sheriff Tom Powers was touchy these days, so they continued to search for easier prey. Tad Hicks jerked his thumb toward Dutchy and Silent Moore, leaning against the wall.

“Wish I’d thought of tellin’ Jim Hogg to go question them hombres,” he grinned.

The others chuckled and then grew glum at this lost opportunity, for Dutchy and Silent had the reputation of being morose and taciturn.

Mrs. Ransom, the judge’s wife, her daughter, Mary, and Snippets McPherson strolled by.

“Howdy, ladies,” Kansas called.

Mrs. Ransom nodded, Mary giggled, and Snippets smiled.

“Hello, boys,” she cried. “Kansas, when are you going to bring me over that dun horse to break for you?”

Kansas flushed and the others guffawed. The week before, the said dun had set him afoot ignominiously, where he had been found by Snippets.

“Never mind, Kansas. I was only funnin’. I know your cinch broke, ’cause I found your saddle,” she added contritely.

“Now, yuh darned tadpoles, will yuh believe what I tole yuh? Yuh know darn well that girl don’t lie!” Kansas cried. He gazed after Snippets gratefully, for, if the truth be known, his cinch had not broken; that had been his alibi for the greatest disgrace that can happen to a puncher—to have a broken horse throw him and leave him afoot.

“She’s sure a swell gal,” Tad Hicks said admiringly.

“She’s more like a fellow than a gal, an’ she sure rides like one,” Windy agreed.

The three women passed on down the platform. When they reached Toothpick and the sheriff, Snippets stopped and stared at the tall cowboy.

“Why, Snip,” Mary giggled. “Are you in love with Toothpick? You’re blushing.”

Snippets did not heed her. When Toothpick failed to see her she plucked at his sleeve.

“Toothpick?” Her greeting was a question.

The lanky cow-puncher swung about and snatched off his hat. He had known Snippets ever since she was a child. Then he had worked for her father up North.

“’Lo, kid,” he greeted.

“Did yuh see him?” she asked in an eager whisper.

“See who?” Toothpick feigned ignorance.

“Don’t tease. You know,” she pleaded.

“Yuh can spill it to her,” Tom Powers said as he went over to join Mrs. Ransom and Mary.

“Yeh, I seen him,” Toothpick told the girl.

She waited for him to go on. Her dark eyes, wistfully eager, were fixed upon him.

“I goes to El Crucifixo, like yuh tells me to,” drawled Toothpick. “An’ I’m tellin’ yuh I seen there a million dollars’ worth of outlaws, ’cause a gent down there ain’t known socially unless he carries a thousand, dead or alive. I ambles into the Palace Saloon, and the gents look hard at me, an’ that bunch can sure look hard. A couple slid up to me and ask me bluntlike who I am. I tell ’em quick I’m huntin’ Jim-twin Allen. At that they eye me different. Then I spots Jim sittin’ at a table by his lonesome, and I calls him. He’s darned glad to see me. Fie tells those hard hombres I’m his friend, and they get soft, pronto.”

His deliberation irritated the girl.

“But is he coming?” she demanded impatiently.

“Sure is.”

Snippets’ eyes lighted with joy.

“I tell him about the Lava Gang, and he won’t come. Then I tell him yuh want him to come, and still he refuses. He gets sorta bitter an’ says he ain’t no cow-thief catcher—that’s his brother Jack’s job. I plead with him and tell him how your uncle’s in danger. He says he’s not comin’ up here to help your uncle hang a man. By accident I tell how the Lava Gang now and then runs off gals across the border fer ransom and how they murdered that Courfay woman. At that he says quicklike he’ll come a-runnin’.”

“When is he coming?” she asked quickly.

He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“And when you told him I wanted him to come, he wouldn’t?” she asked softly.

“Positively not,” Toothpick said bluntly.

Another question trembled on her lips, but her eyes clouded and she turned away, leaving it unsaid. Toothpick called to her.

“Yuh know why he refused,” he grumbled. “Yuh know darn well Jim Allen is an outlaw and hasn’t a Chinaman’s chance of being pardoned. He’d be a hell of a fellow if he came to see a girl like yuh. But I’ll tell yuh this: He talked a heap about yuh and made me promise I’d tell yuh he was no good, an’ that he thought yuh was only a fool romantic gal what thinks yuh like him’ cause he’s the famous ‘White Wolf.’”

“That’s not true, Toothpick,” she said quietly.

“Sure, I knows,” he told her.

“It’s not the Wolf I like, but——”

“Sure, you and me and Dutchy is the same. We likes the kid, Jim Allen, what blubbers about his hosses.” Toothpick twirled his hat to hide his emotion.

“It’s a damned shame!” he exploded. “Just the same, kid, yuh want to forget yuh ever see him and marry some nice tame gent.”

“Like you, Toothpick?” she asked, smiling.

“Me?” Toothpick grunted. “Not any! I knows yuh too well. Yuhr tongue is too darned sharp. It keeps a man hoppin’ all the time. Come on! Here’s the train.”

The Limited rose from a far murmur to a rasping, grinding rush of sound and roared to a stop, grumbling, sputtering, like some great steel animal suddenly foiled in its rush through the prairie night. Within the lighted cars, passengers turned in casual curiosity to look at the station throng. But, contrary to its usual custom, that throng did not return the stares. For once interest was not centered on the Limited itself; all eyes were turned toward one man as he descended alone, slowly, with dignity. He faced the curious eyes calmly as he greeted his wife and daughter.

Erect, distinguished with his white goatee and the broad black hat that shaded sincere gray eyes, by no gesture did he betray excitement. And yet he knew that, of that crowd, almost every one knew his difficulties, knew why he had gone to the capitol, were avidly curious about the outcome of the visit, and were even more on edge concerning the trial to-morrow.

Cannondale knew that the judge had been in financial straits ever since the Lava Gang had stolen two hundred of his steers. He had tried unsuccessfully to get his notes renewed at the local bank; finally, he had made this trip to the capitol, where he had friends. But there, also, failure stalked him. His ranch was in debt, and it was hinted that his political position was none too secure.

Rumor said the judge had incurred the antagonism of the Mexican vote and would not be re-elected. How this story had reached Washington he did not know. But of the two banks where he was best known, one refused outright to make a loan and the other postponed it until the judge was forced to leave for Cannondale to preside at the murder trial. Vaguely he suspected that the tentacles of the Lava Gang stretched even into the furthermost political and financial centers. As he boarded the train for home he resolved to fight the gang to the end, whatever that end might be.

No trace of emotion, beyond pleasure at seeing her, tinctured the greeting kiss he gave his wife; no hint of the sword above their heads. Yet one glance at his eyes told the kindly, white-haired little woman that their difficulties were still unsolved. She pressed his hand in the comforting reassurance of her own courage and understanding.

His daughter Mary gave him a resounding kiss and a cheery “Hello, dad.” The family troubles had as yet only vaguely affected Mary; they had not toned down her treble giggle nor her natural nineteen-year-old interest in the arrangement of her blond curls. Snippets, though a year younger, was far more seriously concerned than Mary, because she understood better the gravity of the judge’s situation.

The conductor waved his lantern, the engine snorted response, and the Limited slid majestically past the spectators. At its rear there trailed a smoking car. As this drew abreast of the station platform, the door banged open and a husky brakeman appeared, dragging a small man by the scruff of the neck. The brakeman seized his victim by the collar and, catching him by the seat of the pants, he heaved him outward.

The small man rolled head over heels, to the spectators’ howls of mirth. He fetched up at the feet of the judge and his friends.

“You darned drunken hobo, it takes money to ride on this train,” the brakeman bawled as he shook his fist at the forlorn figure.

The little man stumbled to his feet and disclosed a dirty face largely obscured by blue glasses. His trousers were too large and bagged at the waist. His threadbare coat hung in tatters. A battered bit of felt draped his head in the semblance of a hat, and one toe protruded from an overlarge shoe. He clinched a grimy fist and shook it after the jeering brakeman.

“You mutton face! Just you dare come back here, and I’ll give you a licking so your mother won’t know you!” he cried shrilly.

His futile rage, his puny fists, brought another gale of mirth from the onlookers.

As if stirred by the laughter, his rage mounted, and he lapsed into shrill abuse mixed with oaths. Toothpick seized him by the shoulder and shook him.

“Hey, you little runt, there’s ladies present,” he warned sharply. “Get out of here, pronto!”

He gave the hobo a rough shove that sent him staggering. The small man gave one glance at the tall Toothpick and limped forlornly up the platform.

“Poor fellow!” Mrs. Ransom fluttered after the tattered figure. Even in her own troubles she pitied this scarecrow of a man. “Why did they throw you off the train?”

He paused, then drew down his mouth and whined to gain her sympathy.

“I bought me a ticket to Chi—that’s Chicago—where I live, ma’am. Me muvver is sick. That feller stole my ticket and guv it to a friend, then threw me off.”

Mrs. Ransom struggled between the contrary emotions of pity and common sense. She knew the story was not true, yet he was so forlorn and hungry looking. Pity won.

“Here’s a dollar. Go buy yourself some food,” she said. Then, struck with an idea, she added sternly: “Promise you won’t drink it up.”

The tramp straightened up.

“Me, ma’am?” He was all injured innocence. “Why, ma’am, I never touch the stuff.”

The crowd chuckled. Tom Powers snorted disgust. He seized the man’s arm.

“What’s yuhr name?” he snapped.

The hobo glanced at the star on the sheriff’s coat and tried to slink away. Pinioned by the heavy hand, he cowered as if he expected a blow.

“Mister, I ain’t done nothin’. I’ll get out of town on the first train,” he pleaded.

“You got until to-morrow afternoon to do it,” warned the sheriff.

As the hobo slunk away the three Frying Pan riders looked after him longingly. He was an ideal mark for their humor. Sam Hogg sensed their longing.

“It’s all right, boys,” he said. “You can go along now. Looks like they ain’t goin’ to be no trouble here, after all. Not right now, leastways.”

As one man the three humorists started after the scarecrow. Mrs. Ransom bristled to his protection.

“You bullies!” She shook a warning finger. “If I hear of you tormenting that poor little fellow, I’ll—well, I’ll be angry.”

“Huh, ma’am,” Tad Hicks stuttered. “We wa’n’t thinkin’ of doin’ nothin’, nohow.”

“We figured we’d take him to dinner with us-all,” Windy added with defensive genius.

Mrs. Ransom shook her head, smiling, as they joined the hobo. They towered above him—a tatterdemalion dwarf between three guardsmen.

She rejoined her husband. The sheriff nodded, and the judge and his family moved toward their home. Ransom was flanked by two deputies and further protected by Silent and Dutchy, who brought up a grim rear guard.

Snippets turned back and ran to Toothpick.

“Thank you for protecting me from that man,” she smiled, teasing.

“Huh?” Toothpick queried dumbly.

“Oh, you men! How dumb you are!” She stamped her foot. Then, on tiptoe, she delivered a quick kiss on the nose of the astounded Toothpick and ran to rejoin her party.

Toothpick stared after her. He felt gingerly of his nose and scratched his head.

“She meant somethin’ by that. But what was it?” he asked himself, and gave up the answer.