The driver looked sidelong at his companion, who grinned down at the officer. “Why,” he drawled, “we’re a couple o’ cowboys a-goin’ home to Santone. Our names wouldn’t mean nothin’, I reckon. Been--” vaguely he waved his arm to indicate the vast spaces behind him--“up north with a trail herd. Charlie Howell’s trail herd.” Cavalrymen had edged closer to the wagon by this time, glancing in curiously at the jumble of bedding and clothes-bags. The black-haired man who had done the explaining to the lieutenant gave them no heed; still he grinned down, quite frankly and friendly, upon the officer. “If you don’t mind, Cap’n,” he said, “we’d like to camp along with you-all tonight. By gosh! Wish we could make a trade with you to ride with us till we get clean out o’ the Nation!” He laughed infectiously. “Two nights back, me’n Bill, here, we camped with a bunch we overtook. We never got what you might call a good night’s sleep. I seen wild-lookin’ fellows, but the tall one a-leadin’ that gang he took the prize. We was sure glad to get away next mornin’ an’ I don’t mind sayin’ we sort o’ figgered so’s one o’ us was always facin’ their way.” “The Nation isn’t much of a health resort,” nodded the lieutenant, smiling in his turn. “Well, come along. We’ll see that you have a good night’s sleep tonight, anyway.” The wagon moved on, with the cavalrymen accompanying, into a wide clearing where the twenty-odd soldiers of the detachment had bivouacked. After supper the two cowboys sought out the lieutenant, who alone had a tent. He was lonely, being the only officer with the detachment; also he had been thinking over the reference to a hard bunch somewhere to the north. The cowboys found him ready to talk. “We’re up here scouting around for some train-robbers who held up a U. P. train at Ogallala, Nebraska,” he told them, as they sat smoking outside the tent. “There were six, altogether, in the gang. We heard that two were killed shortly after the robbery at a little place called Buffalo Stage up in Kansas.” “Hell! Them fellows’ll never come down this way!” cried the taller cowboy, he who had driven the wagon, with much emphasis. “Not much!” The dark-haired man shot a furious glance sidelong at the emphatic one. “An’ why not?” he snapped. “Don’t ever’ Tom, Dick an’ Harry that’s on the dodge head for the Nation? You think with them fancy boots o’ yours, Bill! Reckon ol’ Lengthy’s gang, that was so free with hard looks for us, is a bunch o’ Sunday school superintendents, mebbe? Could you get up in court an’ swear that they wasn’t this gang that stuck up that train?” “Mebbe you’re right, Frank,” nodded the driver meekly. “How many were in this gang you camped with?” Thus the lieutenant, leaning forward eagerly. “Why, the tall fellow an’ three ornery lookin’ customers. That is, they hadn’t had a wash or shave for a right smart while. Horses looked like they’d been hard rid----”