The foreman of the Star C rode at a walk toward a distant point of his dominions and cogitated as to whether he could ride over to Ford's Station that night to see the sheriff. It was a matter of sixty miles for the round trip, but it might have been sixty blocks, so far as the distance troubled him. He had just decided to make the trip and to spend a pleasant hour with his friend, and drink some of the delicious coffee which Mrs. Shields always made for him and eat one of her prize pies, or some of her light ginger bread, when he descried a horseman coming toward him at a lope. [Illustration: The Orphan gives Blake Shields' note. (_See page_ 213.)] The newcomer was a stranger to Blake and appeared to be a young man, which was of no consequence. But the thing which attracted more than a casual glance from the foreman was a certain jaunty, reckless air about the man which spoke well for the condition of his nerves and liver. The stranger approached to within a rod of Blake before he spoke, and then he slowed down and nodded, but with wide-eyed alertness. "Howdy," he said. "Are you the foreman of the Star C?" "Howdy. I am," replied the foreman. "Then I reckon this is yours," said the stranger, holding out a bit of straw-colored paper. The foreman took it and slowly read it. When he had finished reading he turned it over to see if there was anything on the back, and then stuck it in his pocket and looked up casually. "Are you The Orphan?" he asked, with no more interest than he would have displayed if he had asked about the weather. "Yes," replied The Orphan, nonchalantly rolling another cigarette. "How is the sheriff?" Blake asked. "Shore well enough, but a little mad about the Cross Bar-8," answered the other as he inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. "He said there was some good coffee waiting for you to-night if you wanted it," he added. "Did he?" asked Blake, grinning his delight. "Yes, and some--apricot pie," added The Orphan wistfully. Blake laughed: "Well, I reckon I've got some business over in town to-night, so you keep on going 'til you get to the bunk house. Tell Lee Lung to rustle the grub lively--I'll be there right after you. Apricot pie!" he chuckled as he pushed on at a lope. Jim Carter was washing for supper, being urged to show more speed by Bud Taylor, when the latter looked up and saw The Orphan dismount. His mouth opened a trifle, but he continued his urging without a break. He had seen The Orphan at Ace High the year before, when the outlaw had ridden in for a supply of cartridges, and he instantly recalled the face. But Bud was not only easy-going, but also very hungry at the time, and he didn't care if the devil himself called as long as the devil respected the etiquette of the range. Besides, if there was to be trouble it would rest more comfortably on a full stomach. "Give me a quit-claim to that pan, yu coyote," he said pleasantly to Jim. "Yu ain't taking no bath!"