She felt as though she were in a kind of twilight valley, midway between the hills of slumber and wakefulness. For the moment she forgot the name of the town itself. She knew that she could recall it if she tried. A dog lay asleep beneath the station platform opposite, one relaxed paw over his nose. Some one was calling to some one in the kitchen. A figure passed in the street; a young man who smiled and nodded. It was the boy, Lorry. He had been working on the car that morning. She had watched him work, rather enjoying his energy. A healthy young animal as unsophisticated as a kitten, and really innately kind and innocent of intent to flatter. He was not at all like the bright young savage who had roped and almost choked to death that awful man. It was impossible to judge a person at first sight and especially under unusual circumstances. And he seemed not at all chagrined that he had not gone with the others to the hills. Alice had enjoyed reading about Westerners--rough, boisterous beings intolerable to Mrs. Weston even in print. And Mrs. Weston thought that proper environment and association might bring out their better qualities, even as the boy, Lorry, seemed to have improved--well, since yesterday morning. Perhaps he was on his good behavior because they were there. It seemed past comprehension that anything startling could happen in that drowsy atmosphere. The young cowboy was coming back down the street, some part of the car over his shoulder. Mrs. Weston anticipated his nod, and nodded lazily as he passed. She could hear him tinkering at the car. A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black mustache and looked wise. "They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day working on that automobile." "Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day. I didn't say anything to him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd hate to think he done anything like that." "That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, and he could use the money." "Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff. "Nothing. The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both stations. He's afoot and he's gone." "Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?" "That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away. It won't help us any next election." "Well, my idea is to have a talk with Adams," said the undersheriff. "I'm going to do that. I like the kid, and then there's his mother--" "And you'd hold him for lettin' the guy loose, eh?" "I would. I'd hold my own brother for playing a trick like that." "Well, I don't sabe it," asserted the undersheriff. "Lorry Adams always had a good name." "We'll have a talk with him, Bill."