"Whoopee, I get yuh! Yuh got friends down there," Bill McAllister interrupted, "I betcha yuh do have, after what yuh done----" At Allen's warning glance, the old-timer brought his sentence to a close with a series of coughs. "What yuh goin' to do?" Doc asked. "Me? I'm aimin' to eat another piece of pie, if Mrs. Hart will give it to me, then I'm goin' to ride to Three Roads Junction an' send a telegram," Allen said carelessly. Mrs. Hart hastily arose and cut Allen a double portion of pie. The postmaster stared at Allen with protruding eyes. He was too overcome to speak. He nudged Bill McAllister and pointed to Allen. The old horse wrangler nodded in reply. Doc Hollis volunteered to furnish Allen with a fast horse and then hastened away to saddle it. Five minutes later, he was back again. Allen finished the pie, thanked Mrs. Hart, walked outside, mounted the waiting horse, and rode away into the night. "He sure does things casuallike," the doctor said admiringly. "It's sure him," the postmaster said in awe. "Yeh, but don't go talkin' loud," Bill McAllister warned. "What is it? Who is that boy?" Ma Hart asked. "Never yuh mind that," Doc told her seriously. "Yuh get down on your knees this night an' pray if yuh want to see that boy of yourn again--pray as yuh never prayed afore that nothin' happens to the White Wolf to-night." "Who is he? The White Wolf? What could happen to him?" the woman asked, bewildered. Doc pointed to a picture of a man on a white horse that hung over the mantelpiece. "Read me that there title!" he said. Wondering, the woman read: "I saw a man on a white horse, and his name was Death!" "That's him!" The other two gravely nodded their heads. The woman glanced from the picture to the three solemn faces and then back to the picture again. Late that night Bill McAllister and Doc Hollis laughed softly to themselves. The rumor they had started was spreading like wildfire. On their way home, at least three friends stopped them and said practically the same thing: "Yuh know, I been thinkin'. If Slivers Hart was rustlin' cows, how come there warn't no cows on the ranch when the sheriff seized it? It's funny about the killin' of John Reed----" They all would go that far and then nod as if they could say more if they were so inclined. "Folks is sure startin' to think," McAllister chuckled. The following morning Bill McAllister was with the cavvy when Allen trotted down a slope and rode toward him. "Yuh send it all right?" the old man asked eagerly. "Yeh." Allen slipped to the ground and unsaddled his horse, which was drooping from fatigue. "There is two things I wants yuh to do. Don't tell her any more than yuh have to--'cause she might act hopeful an' give her hand away--but tell Dot to insult Spur Treadwell--call him names, say he ain't nothin' but a bull of a man an' that she's plumb disgusted with him. Then I wants yuh to make me night wrangler."