The lieutenant cut out every other word and garnered the wheat of the message: “Man you want is here.” The telegram was marked from Epitaph, and for that town the ranger and the sheriff entrained immediately. Bucky’s eye searched in vain the platform of the Epitaph depot for Malloy, of the Rangers, whose wire had brought him here. The cause of the latter’s absence was soon made clear to him in a note he found waiting for him at the hotel: “The old man has just sent me out on hurry-up orders. Don’t know when I’ll get back. Suggest you take in the show at the opera house to-night to pass the time.” It was the last sentence that caught Bucky’s attention. Jim Malloy had not written it except for a reason. Wherefore the lieutenant purchased two tickets for the performance far back in the house. From the local newspaper he gathered that the showman was henceforth to be a resident of Epitaph. Mr. Jay Hardman, or Signor Raffaello Cavellado, as he was known the world over by countless thousands whom he had entertained, had purchased a corral and livery stable at the corner of Main and Boothill Streets and solicited the patronage of the citizens of Hualpai County. That was the purport of the announcement which Bucky ringed with a pencil and handed to his friend. That evening Signor Raffaello Cavellado made a great hit with his audience. He swaggered through his act magnificently, and held his spectators breathless. Bucky took care to see that a post and the sheriff’s big body obscured him from view during the performance. After it was over O’Connor and the sheriff returned to the hotel, where also Hardman was for the present staying, and sent word up to his room that one of the audience who had admired very much the artistic performance would like the pleasure of drinking a glass of wine with Signor Cavellado if the latter would favor him with his company in room seven. The Signor was graciously pleased to accept, and followed his message of acceptance in person a few minutes later. Bucky remained quietly in the corner of the room back of the door until the showman had entered, and while the latter was meeting Collins he silently locked the door and pocketed the key. The sheriff acknowledged Hardman’s condescension brusquely and without shaking hands. “Glad to meet you, seh. But you’re mistaken in one thing. I’m not your host. This gentleman behind you is.” The man turned and saw Bucky, who was standing with his back against the door, a bland smile on his face. “Yes, seh. I’m your host to-night. Sheriff Collins, hyer, is another guest. I’m glad to have the pleasure of entertaining you, Signor Raffaello Cavellado,” Bucky assured him, in his slow, gentle drawl, without reassuring him at all. For the fellow was plainly disconcerted at recognition of his host. He turned with a show of firmness to Collins. “If you’re a sheriff, I demand to have that door opened at once,” he blustered.