“Why, long enough to round up the boys and tell ’em what to do to travel the straight and narrow trail. He’s a man, that sky pilot is, and a good friend of Perry’s and mine. His name’s Jordan.” “Well, as soon as we get to the ranch we’ll lay the proposition before Perry and Hattie; then we’ll all ride over to Hackamore, and you and the girl will take the momentous step. I’ve a notion that that will settle everything and bring peace and happiness on the Brazos.” For an hour the scout and the cowboy rode briskly through the moonlight. At the end of that time they reached the bank of the Brazos, and drew up at the door of a comfortable log cabin. Silence reigned around the ranch house. No glimmer of light showed through its small windows, and there was no sign of life in the vicinity. “I don’t savvy this layout,” muttered Dunbar forebodingly. “Why,” returned the scout, “it’s late. Perry and the rest have gone to bed.” Dunbar tumbled out of the saddle and threw open the door. The scout, still sitting on his horse, heard the cowboy moving around in the cabin and stumbling over chairs and other pieces of furniture. Presently a glow of light came through the open door. Looking into the big room, the scout saw chairs overturned and the whole interior in disorder. The cowboy ran to the door. “Something’s happened here, Buffalo Bill!” he cried excitedly. “There’s been a fight of some kind in the house, and Perry and Hattie have disappeared. Fiend take the scoundrels! Benner and the barons are back of this!” Buffalo Bill dismounted hurriedly and ran into the cabin. He saw at a glance that the place had been the scene of recent violence and that some rascally work had been carried out. “Put up the horses, my lad,” said he calmly to Dunbar, “and then come in and we’ll do some figuring. Keep your nerve, Nate. If you go to pieces, you won’t be able to give me the help I need.” While the cowboy was taking care of the horses, Buffalo Bill surveyed the interior of the cabin. The fine softening touch of a woman’s hand was everywhere visible. Over a table hung a book rack with a little treasury of well-worn volumes. A lamp stood on the table, and on the side of the table nearest the lamp a rocking-chair was overturned. An open book lay on the floor. The scout picked up the book, and found that it was a copy of “Paul and Virginia.” He laid the book on the floor where he had found it. There were yarn mottoes on the walls, framed in pine cones: “God Bless Our Home,” “Haste Makes Waste,” and “The Lord Loveth a Cheerful Giver.” Something in those trite and homely sentiments touched the scout’s heart. The books and mottoes bespoke character--character that seemed out of place in that rough country--character that should not have been entangled in such a web of treachery and violence as had been thrown about the Perrys.