“Nothin’—­except what you’re lookin’ at.”

Torrance smiled.  “Could you get a letter from your last employer?”

“Not the kind of letter that would do any good.  I had an argument with the foreman, and he fired me.”

Torrance had heard something about the matter, and did not question further at the time.

“Do you drink?” queried Torrance.

“I never monkeyed with it much.  I reckon I could if I wanted to.”

Torrance drummed on the desk with his long, strong fingers.  He reached in a drawer and drew out a letter.

“How about that?”

Lorry glanced at the heading.  Evidently the sheriff knew of his general whereabouts.  The letter stated that the sheriff would appreciate information leading to the apprehension of Lawrence Adams, wanted for aiding a prisoner to escape and for having in his possession a horse that did not belong to him.

“What he says is right,” Lorry asserted cheerfully.  “I busted into the jail and turned that hobo loose, and I borrowed the horse I’m riding.  I aim to send him back.  My own horse is in the corral back at Stacey.”

“What was your idea in letting the man go after arresting him?”

Lorry’s clear color deepened.  “I wasn’t figurin’ on explainin’ that.”

“You don’t have to explain.  But you will admit that the charges in this letter are rather serious.  We don’t want men in the Service who are open to criticism.  You’re pretty young to have such a record.  It’s up to you to explain—­or not, just as you like.  But anything you tell me will be treated as absolutely confidential, Adams.”

“All right.  Well, everything I done that day went wrong.  I caught the hobo tryin’ to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch.  I was takin’ him to Stacey when Bob Brewster butted in.  The hobo was sick, and I didn’t aim to stand and see him kicked and beat up with a quirt, even if he did steal one of the Starr horses.  I told High Chin to quit, but his hearin’ wasn’t good, so I had to show him.  Then I got to thinkin’ I wasn’t so much—­takin’ a pore, busted tramp to jail.  And it made me sick when everybody round town was callin’ me some little hero.  Then one of the Starr boys told me High Chin was cinchin’ up to ride in and get the hobo, anyhow, so I busted the lock and told him to fan it.”

“Why didn’t you appeal to the sheriff?”

“Huh!  Buck Hardy is all right.  But I can tell you one thing; he’s not the man to stand up to High Chin when High is drinkin’.  Why, I see High shove a gun in Hardy’s face once and tell him to go home and go to bed.  And Hardy went.  Anyhow, that hobo was my prisoner, and I didn’t aim to let High Chin get his hands on him.”

“I see.  Well, you have a strange way of doing things, but I appreciate why you acted as you did.  Of course, you know it is a grave offense to aid a prisoner to escape.”

“Buck Hardy seems to think so.”