The sheriff looked at Tug. The vagrant was standing beside the piano glancing at the music piled on top of it. Ragged, dusty, and unshaven, he was not a prepossessing youth. Livid and purple bruises ridged his pallid cheeks. Daniels found in the face something not quite normal, and, since he was a clean outdoor man himself, an unhealthy variation from the usual stirred in him a slight feeling of distrust. “By yore way of it, Clint, you beat up this hobo here for trespassing on yore land. I’d say from the looks of him you gave him a plenty. Does it look reasonable to you that he’d trail the other hobo for miles to protect you from him?” “Not to protect me, Frank. He gave it to me straight it wasn’t for me. ’Seems he got to worryin’ about what this Cig might do to the children. The fellow had been talkin’ about kidnapping and how easy it could be pulled off. So this one--Tug he calls himself--followed Cig here. Looks reasonable to me. He’s game. You’d ought to have seen him come at me with his legs wobbling under him. Well, a game man doesn’t make war on women and kids, does he?” “Our kind of man doesn’t. But he’s not our kind. Looks to me like a dope fiend. Expect he’s got a lot of these anarchist ideas tramps are carryin’ around the country nowadays. I don’t say he’s guilty. What I do say is that I’m not convinced he’s innocent. Far as being game goes, this other man Cig is game enough, too, by what you say. Stood the gaff, and then bawled you out, didn’t he?” “He’s game like a cornered wolf. I tell you this one’s different. He’s an educated man gone wrong. At first I didn’t get him right myself.” “Sure you’ve got him right now?” the sheriff asked, smiling. “Far as this business goes, I have. I’ll admit he’s got no cause to like me, but I’ve got a hunch he’s white.” “I’d rather have facts than hunches.” The owner of the Diamond Bar K was a new convert to the opinion he was giving voice to, and he was therefore a more eager advocate of it. “Look at this from my point of view, Frank. I thrash him till he can’t stand, and he pays me back by lookin’ out for Bess when she’s in trouble. One of my men hauls him back here at the end of a rope. He settles that score by tramping five or six miles to help us again. I’d be a poor sort if I didn’t come through for him now.” “Well, I’ll not push on my reins, Clint,” the officer promised. “Very likely you’re right, and I’m sure not aimin’ to make trouble for any innocent man. This tramp of yours will have every chance in the world to show he’s straight. I’ll not arrest him unless I’ve got the goods on him.” Dr. Rayburn, ready for business, came forward fussily. “You quit exciting my patient, Sheriff. Quit it. And move on out of this sick-room. I don’t want any one here but Miss Bessie and Bridget and Lon Forbes.” The sheriff laughed. “All right, Doc. It’s yore say-so.” He walked out of the room, the vagrant by his side. “Am I under arrest?” the latter asked.