“All right.  But remember; neither of you owns the horse you are trading.”

“But we’re goin’ to,” asserted Lorry.

Waring reached beneath his coat and unbuckled a heavy belt.  From buckle to tongue it glittered with cartridges and a service-worn holster bulged with a short-barreled Colt’s .45.  He handed the belt to Lorry.

“It’s a good gun,” he said, “and I hope you’ll never need to use it.”

Lorry stammered his thanks, untied Dex, and gave the reins into Waring’s hand.  “The trade goes,” he said.  “But we change saddles.”

“Correct,” said Waring.  “And here’s a letter—­from your mother.”

Lorry slid the letter in his shirt.  “How’s the Weston folks?”

“They were to leave this morning.  Mrs. Weston asked me to pay you for repairing their machine.  She gave me the money.”

“You can keep it.  I wasn’t workin’ for pay.”

“All right.  Going to stay down here awhile?”

“I aim to.  Did you see anything of Buck Hardy on the way down?”

“Hardy?  Why, no.  But I rode part way with his deputy.  He’s due here some time to-day.”

“That bein’ the case,” said Lorry, swinging to the saddle, “I reckon I’ll hunt up Bud Shoop.  Thanks for my horse.  Mebby I’ll be back in this town in two, three days.”  And he was gone.

Waring dropped Dex’s reins.  “Got a minute to spare, Torrance?”

“Yes, indeed.  You’re looking well, Jim.”

In the office they shook hands again.

“It’s a long time,” said Torrance, proffering a cigar.  “You were punching cattle for the Box S and I was a forest ranger those days.  Did Mexico get too hot?”

“Warm.  What’s the boy doing down here?”

“He seems to be keeping out of the way of the sheriff,” laughed Torrance.  “Incidentally he applied for a position as ranger.”

“Did he?  I’m glad of that.  I was afraid he might get to riding the high trails.  He’s got it in him.”

“You seem to know him pretty well.”

“Not so well as I would like to.  I’m his father.”

“Why, I had no idea—­but, come to think of it, he does resemble you.  I didn’t know that you were married.”

“Yes.  I married Annie Adams, of Las Cruces.  He’s our boy.”

Torrance saw that Waring did not care to talk further on the subject of his married life.  And Torrance recalled the fact that Mrs. Adams, who lived in Stacey, had been in Mexico.

“He’s a live one,” said Torrance.  “I think I’ll take him on.”

“I don’t ask you to, John.  He’s got to play the game for himself.  He may not always do right, but he’ll always do what he thinks is right, if I am any judge.  And he won’t waste time doing it.  I told Hardy’s deputy on the way down that he might as well give up running after the boy.  Hardy is pretty sore.  Did Lorry tell you?”

“Yes.  And I can understand his side of it.”

“I think that little Weston girl dazzled him,” said Waring.  “She’s clever, and Lorry hasn’t seen many of her kind.  I think he would have stayed right in Stacey and faced the music if she hadn’t been there when Hardy tried to arrest him.  Lorry is only eighteen.  He had to show off a little.”