Sam turned his foot over, looked critically at the calloused sole of it, turned it back again and blew a mouthful of smoke. "Yeah--uh-huh. You damn smart--you don't like them damn jail. I'm don't. We both smart, you bet." Lance lifted an eyebrow. "What's the Piegan word for _accomplice_, Sam?" he asked softly. Sam Pretty Cow considered. "Me, I'm don' know them damn word," he decided. "It's a word that sends smart men to jail, Sam. It means the man that stays at home and--_knows_." Sam Pretty Cow tucked his feet under the thin blanket, laid his half-smoked cigarette on the box, with the burning end out over the edge. "Uh-huh. Yeah. You bet." He looked up at Lance, for the first time meeting his eyes squarely. "I'm know them damn word you call. Nh-hn. Long time I'm got that what it mean on my heart. You're damn right." He waited a minute, saw the Lorrigan look on Lance's face, on his lips that smiled enigmatically. "Them Californy got bronks to bust?" "Surest thing you know, Sam. But that's all right. You stay." Sam Pretty Cow looked doubtful as an Indian may ever be expected to look. "You stay, Sam. There'll be bronks to bust on the Devil's Tooth for a long while yet." He moved to the door, pulled it open and stood looking out. Only a few miles away Mary Hope lay asleep, loving him in her dreams, please God. Here, the Shadow hung black over the Devil's Tooth. He turned to Sam Pretty Cow whose hand was stretched toward the smoky lamp. "You forget that word, Sam. It doesn't mean anything at all--to a Piegan. And Sam, if I'm not around to-morrow morning, you ride over to the Douglas ranch, and take back the horse I borrowed. Belle may want to send you to town. She's there." Sam Pretty Cow's eyes widened appreciably. "Uh-huh--all right. I'm go," he promised, and blew out the light. Lance went slowly up to the house and lay face downward on his bed. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX THE DOPE Traveling lightly, Lance had covered a hundred and fifty miles in four days, through country where trails were few and rough. He had made wide detours, had slept on the ground in his slicker, had eaten bacon and bannocks cooked in the small frying pan which he carried in the sack with his meager rations. He had missed altogether the Devil's Tooth outfit, and was swinging back now by way of the Lava Beds, where Tom had said that they were going. It was because Tom had named that as his destination that Lance had ridden elsewhere to find him; good reasoning, but so far unproductive of results. Four days, and he had not heard from Mary Hope, had learned nothing conclusive, either for or against the Devil's Tooth. Some clues he had gleaned, some evidence that strengthened his suspicions, but nothing to make him feel that the trip had been worth the hardship.