"Not this child's," asserted Lon Pelly. "I sailed my hat for him onct. It was a twenty-dollar J.B., when I sailed it. When it hit it sure wouldn't hold water. Six holes in her--and three shots." "Six?" exclaimed Bartley. "The three shots went clean through both sides," said Lon. Cheyenne reloaded his gun and dropped it into the holster. Later, Bartley had a talk with Cheyenne about the proposed trailing of the stolen horses. Panhandle's name was mentioned. And the name of another man--Sneed. Cheyenne seemed to know just where he would look, and whom he might expect to meet. Bartley and Cheyenne were in the living-room that evening talking with the Senator and his wife. Out in the bunk-house those of the boys who had not left for the line shack were discussing horse-thieves in general and Panhandle and Sneed in particular. Bill Smalley, a saturnine member of the outfit, who seldom said anything, and who was a good hand but a surly one, made a remark. "That there Cheyenne is the fastest gun artist--and the biggest coward that ever come out of Wyoming. Ain't that right, Lon?" "I never worked in Wyoming," said Long Lon. CHAPTER XI PONY TRACKS Mrs. Senator Brown did not at all approve of Bartley's determination to accompany Cheyenne in search of the stolen horses. Late that night, long after Cheyenne had ceased to sing for the boys in the bunk-house, and while Bartley was peacefully slumbering in a comfortable bed, Mrs. Brown took the Senator to task for not having discouraged the young Easterner from attempting such a wild-goose chase. The Senator, whose diameter made the task of removing his boots rather difficult, puffed, and tugged at a tight riding-boot, but said nothing. "Steve!" "Yes'm. I 'most got it off. Wild-goose chase? Madam, the wild goose is a child that shuns this element. You mean wild-horse chase." "That sort of talk may amuse your constituents, but you are talking to me." Off came the stubborn boot. The Senator puffed, and tugged at the other boot. "No, ma'am. You're talking to me. There! Now go ahead and I'll listen." "Why didn't you discourage Mr. Bartley's idea of making such a journey?' "I did, Nelly. I told him he was a dam' fool." Mrs. Senator Brown, who knew her husband's capabilities in dodging issues when he was cornered,--both at home and abroad,--peered at him over her glasses. "What else did you tell him?" "Well, your honor," chuckled the Senator, "I also told him he was the kind of dam' fool I liked to shake hands with." "I knew it! And what else?" "I challenge the right of the attorney for the plaintiff to introduce any evidence that may--" "The attorney for the defense may proceed," said Mrs. Brown, smiling. "Why, shucks, Nelly! When you smile like that--why, I told Bartley he could have anything on this ranch that would help him get a rope on Sears." "I knew it!" "Then why did you ask me?"