There were half a dozen pairs of saddlebags hanging from nails on the wall. Charlie was the custodian of those bags, and was supposed to know to whom each pair belonged. He dropped the package under a flap of one of the bags and then turned and went on with his gambling. Benner, Phelps and one or two more cattlemen came out of the dining room a few minutes later, closely followed by Wild Bill, Nomad, Cayuse and the sky pilot. “Oh, Lige,” called the clerk, “there was a feller in here, a spell ago, with a package done up in a piece o’ newspaper. He said it was ter go in yore saddlebags, so I slipped it in.” “Much obliged, Charlie,” answered Benner. It was casual talk, and was overheard casually by the pards and the parson. An hour later, when Nomad, Wild Bill, Cayuse and Jordan were riding at a leisurely clip for the Brazos, keeping a sharp lookout for hostile cowboys, the Laramie man reached into his warbag for a pouch of tobacco. His groping hand encountered something which he could not remember having placed in the bag. “Thunder!” he exclaimed, drawing his horse to a halt. “What’s up, pard?” asked Nomad, as he and the others likewise halted. “I don’t know what’s up,” answered Wild Bill. “Lean over, Nick, and get a firestick to going. Have I got my own warbags, or somebody else’s?” The trapper struck a light and held it over the battered leather receptacles which always traveled with Hickok whenever he rode. “They’re yoren, Hickok,” declared Nomad. “Ye could pick out them bags from a thousand.” “The bags may be mine, Nick, but I’ll take oath this don’t belong to me.” In the glow of the match Wild Bill presented the package for the others’ inspection. “Ye didn’t put that in yer warbags, eh?” “No. I never saw it before. Strike another match and let’s see what’s inside.” Examination showed Wild Bill and his companions two pairs of steel bracelets. Everybody was staring and wondering. “Now, how the blazes did those ‘come-alongs’ get into my gear?” demanded Wild Bill, completely at sea. “I never owned a pair of manacles in my life, and the only time I ever used any was when I was town marshal, up at Abilene. Even then I shied at the things. How did these get into my warbags? Parson, are you a mind reader?” The sky pilot laughed. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to settle that point, Mr. Hickok,” he answered. “Do you recall a brief conversation that passed between the clerk at the Delmonico Hotel and Lige Benner when we came out of the dining room, right after supper? The clerk called out to Benner that a man had brought a package wrapped in newspaper, and that the package had been put in Benner’s saddlebags. I shouldn’t wonder if the clerk had made a mistake in the bags. Instead of putting the package into Benner’s, Wild Bill, he put it into yours.” “Pard Jordan,” chirped Nomad, “yore head is some level, an’ no mistake. Ye’ve called the turn. Pard Hickok has got sheriff’s property as was intended fer Benner.”