“Gopher Gabe left it to you. But he said if you could appear dare as some officer with authoridy to act, you could get through the chail easy enough. Chust what that authoridy would be he dit not know; he left it to you. But he said, too, that vonce you was in the newspaper line, and you might use that.” “Is he prepared to back me?” White-eyed Moses shrugged his shoulders. “Vell,” he said, “you know how it is! Gopher Gabe will spendt his money like vater; but vhen it gomes to daking personal risks, he ain’t dare. You can’t exbect much from him. But he couldt furnish fighting men, if it was needet.” “Nobody is allowed to see Juniper, I reckon?” “I t’ink not.” “You haven’t seen him?” “No.” “No chance, I suppose, to bribe the jailer?” “It’s Matt Shepard; you know him.” “No chance there, and Shepard will be a hard man to fool. He’ll shoot, too. He wouldn’t like anything better than to turn his gun loose on me.” “So you will haf to be careful.” “Well, I guess. I wish it was any man but Shepard.” They talked the matter over at length, suggesting and discussing various plans, with the chances for and against each. The afternoon was well gone when they were through. “I’ll try it,” said Benson resolutely; “I’ll make a break to do something for pore old Joe; I know he would for me. You see, pals in this line have got to stick together, or make a try to, even at the risk of going under. If I don’t do something for him, I reckon he will have to hang. That would be a pity, for the feller he killed had it in for him, and deserved to be put under the sod.” “That is righdt, too,” assented White-eyed Moses. He was ready at last to go. “I vill tell Gopher Gabe that you vill undertake it.” “That’s right. Say to Gabe that he’ll hear of me doing something inside of twenty-four hours.” CHAPTER XIII. BENSON ACTS. The quiet little man who came along the prison wall and turned toward the high barred gate, peered before him curiously, then stopped before the gate and looked at it. He was dressed neatly in a suit of light English tweed, wore eyeglasses, a tall hat, and had a vacant air. Any one seeing him would have said he was a high-browed college professor or scientist who had strayed out of his proper range. All but Gopher Gabe. Having sighted him from his saloon over the way, Gopher Gabe came to the door with some of his patrons, and opined wisely that the stranger scanning the prison gate was “one of these yere newspaper writers, lookin’ for somethin’ to write up.” In that, Gopher Gabe was a prophet; though his ability at accurate forecasting had been gained by a recognition of the clothing as the same which White-eyed Moses had taken out to the Ute village the day before, and the fiddler’s statements on his return. Finding the way open as far as the prison office, the stranger entered it and fished out his card, which he threw on the desk of Matt Shepard.