Miguel was standing awkwardly near the doorway, and with Stephen's appearance touched his hat and led the way outside. Pat was facing three boys, the center of their interest, but when Stephen approached him, and talked to him, he turned and responded with a soft whinny, seeming to understand. Miguel remained at a respectful distance, awaiting orders. Then telling him to wait for a note to be taken to Miss Richards, Stephen re-entered the hotel. The boys swirled off in play. Miguel stood alone with the horse. There were but few persons on the streets, since it was early evening and people were at supper. Miguel's wandering eyes at length rested upon the swing-doors of a saloon opposite--rested there a long time. Finally, unable longer to resist their spell, he glanced at Pat's bridle, noted that the reins were securely tied, and then yielded to the attention of the saloon. In a moment the swing-doors closed upon him. They had barely ceased swinging when out of a doorway just down the street stole the figure of a man. He was young, smooth of face, garbed in blue shirt and overalls, with eyes well concealed under a black sombrero low-drawn. He moved out of the shadow cautiously, with many furtive glances about him. Then he swiftly crossed the street, hurried along the sidewalk to Pat, and reached the horse's head and bridle. Untying the reins from the post, he leaped into the saddle. Then he swung Pat around, put light spurs to him, and urged him rapidly across the avenue. Beyond the avenue toward the north lay Stygian darkness. In these black depths he disappeared. At this moment the clerk in the hotel was aroused by the unusual spectacle of one of his guests--young Wainwright--leaping down the stairs. He looked up with a surprised question. But Stephen ran past him, across the office, without heed. He gained the door, rushed down the steps, and shouted. The boys ceased playing, a passer-by came to a stop, out of the saloon opposite stepped Miguel. Miguel hastened across, drawing his hand over his mouth as he ran. Stephen opened upon him breathlessly. "He's gone!" he burst out. "I saw it from my window. A young man in blue shirt and overalls. The horse has been stolen!" Miguel threw up both hands in despair. "_Valgame Dios!_" he cried. "I am lose my job!" He looked about him blankly. Sick at heart, not knowing what to do, Stephen himself bolted back into the hotel. He entered the telephone booth and rang up the Judge's office. It was late, but he took a chance. The Judge answered the call. His voice was weary with the strain of a long day. "Who in thunder wants me at this hour?" he drawled, not unpleasantly. "Can't you let a man--" Stephen interrupted with an apology. Then he told the Judge of the loss. The Judge's voice changed instantly.