He swung down from his horse with military precision and strode toward the door, carrying a bulky official envelope in his left hand and a cigar stump in his right, but just as he crossed the threshold Pecos Dalhart, startled by his voice, dodged out the back way and ran around the store. It was a break for liberty with him and he took no thought of the cost. Three seconds after the sheriff entered the doorway he came tearing around the corner, heading for his horse. At sight of Upton and Old Crit he paused and reached for his gun—for one tense moment they glared at each other—then, flinging himself into the saddle and hugging his horse's neck, Pecos went spurring away down the trail, reckless of everything but the one main chance of escape. "Hey! Wait a minute!" roared Boone Morgan, dashing out the doorway and waving his envelope. "Come back heah, you pore dam' fool! Well, don't that beat the devil?" he inquired, turning to Crit and Upton. "_I_ didn't have no warrant for him! No! I jest wanted—" he paused and, noticing the wolfish eagerness with which the cowmen awaited his final words, he suddenly changed his mind. "Well, what's the difference," he grumbled, tucking the big envelope back into his pocket, "he'll keep." He followed the cloud of dust that stood for Pecos Dalhart until it tore up over the rim of the mesa and disappeared, and a deep and subterranean rumbling in his chest paid tribute to the joke. There was something like a thousand dollars in that big official envelope—the balance of the Monkey-wrench tax sale—and all he wanted of Pecos was his written receipt for the money. CHAPTER XI THE CATTLE WAR When Pecos Dalhart, flying from his own evil conscience, went stampeding out into the wilderness, Isaac Crittenden and John Upton gazed after him with but a single thought—who would get his cattle? With Pecos out of the way, Crittenden saw a clear field ahead of him in the Lost Dog country and he joined Morgan in a throaty laugh, but Upton viewed his mad flight with disappointment and chagrin. "Well, laugh then, you robber," he snarled, turning angrily on Crit, "I s'pose it tickles you to death to see that dam' cow-thief hit the pike—he might talk and git you into trouble. Say, Mr. Morgan," he protested, "ain't you takin' quite a responsibility onto yourself to let that man git away?—you know what we came down here for," he added, jerking his head toward Crit. "Well, what did you come down here for, you little sawed-off runt?" demanded Crittenden, belligerently. "Hollerin' around, as usual, I s'pose!" "I come down here to find out about them U cows of mine that you branded into a Wine-glass," retorted Upton, "but you and the sheriff here seem to have some kind of an understandin', lettin' the principal witness git away, and all that, so I reckon I better pull."