"We got here without no trouble," Loudon observed in a loud tone. "We're goin' back the way we came. We'll hope that nobody turns loose any artillery from the sidewalk. If they do you fellahs won't live a minute." No shots disturbed the almost pastoral peace of Farewell as prisoners and guards retraced their steps. Opposite the sheriff's shack the convoy began to lag. "Keep a-goin'," admonished Loudon. "We don't like to part with yuh just yet." The prisoners were driven to where a tall spruce grew beside the Paradise Bend trail, three miles from Farewell. "Yuh can stop here," said Loudon. "We'll drop yore guns an' belts a couple o' miles farther on. We're goin' back to the Bend, an' we'll tell the boys what a rattlin' reception yuh give me an' my friend. If yuh see Sam Blakely, Block, don't forget to tell him I was a heap disappointed not to find him to-day. So long, sports, yo're the easiest bunch o' longhorns I ever seen." Loudon laughed in the sheriff's blood-caked face, and set spurs to his horse. "How far we go, huh?" queried Laguerre, when a fold in the ground concealed the tall spruce. "About four mile. There's a draw runnin' southeast. We'll ride down that. We'd ought to be at the Cross-in-a-box round two o'clock. We could turn off right after we dump this assortment o' cannons. They won't follow us to see whether I told 'em the truth or not. They'll just keep right on believin' we're a-headin' for the Bend hot-foot." "I guess dey weel. Say, my frien', why deed'n you geet dat warran' from de sher'f un mak heem eat eet? I would, me." "I don't want to let on I know anythin' about the warrant. Block wants to spring it nice an' easy. All right--let him." Between two and three in the morning they dismounted in front of the Cross-in-a-box ranch house. Loudon pushed open the front door and walked in. He closed the door and set his back against it. "Hey, Jack!" he called. "Wake up!" "Who's there?" came in the incisive voice of Richie, accompanied by a double click. "It's me--Tom Loudon. I want to see yuh a minute." "That's good hearin'. I'll be right out. Light the lamp, will yuh, Tom?" Tousle-headed Jack Richie brisked into the dim circle of lamplight and gripped his friend's hand. He was unfeignedly glad to see Loudon. "C'mon where it's light," invited Richie. "What yuh standin' by the door for? I'll turn the lamp up." "No, yuh won't. Don't touch the lamp, Jack. There's plenty o' light for my business. I'm standin' here 'cause I don't want nobody to know I come here to-night--nobody but you an' Ramsay." "I see," said Richie. "Want a hoss?" "No, ours'll do. Yeah, I've got a friend with me. I can't bring him in. Got to be movin' right quick. I just stopped to know could I borrow Johnny Ramsay for a while. It's on account o' the 88 outfit." "Yuh shore can. The 88, huh? Well, I wish yuh luck. When yuh need any more help, let me know." "Thanks, Jack. I knowed I could count on yuh."