“That’s good!” He relaxed his grip on Pete’s hand and addressed himself to breakfast.  “I like Stan,” he announced, with his head in the chuck-box.

Pete used the opportunity to exchange a look with Bobby’s father.

Bobby emerged from the chuck-box and resumed the topic of Stanley Mitchell.

“He’ll make a hand after he’s been here a spell—­Stan will,” he stated gravely.

“Oh, you know him, then?”

“I was with him the evenin’ before the big doin’s.  He didn’t steal no money!”

“What makes you think so?”

“Easy!  He’s got brains, hain’t he?  I rode with him maybe a mile, but I could see that.  Well!  If he’d stole that money, they wouldn’t ‘a’ found it yet.  Them fellows make me tired!”

Pete made a pretext of thirst and brought a bucket for water from the spring, crooking a finger at Jackson Carr to follow.  Carr found him seated at the spring, shaking with laughter.

“Jack, he’s all there—­your boy!  Couldn’t any judge size it up better.”

“Frame-up, then?”

“Sure!  That part’s all right.”

“I see you wasn’t much taken aback.”

“No.  We was expectin’ something like that and had discounted it.  I’m just as well pleased Stan’s in jail just now, and I’m goin’ to leave him there a spell.  Safer there.  You remember old Hank Bergman?”

Carr nodded.

“Well, Hank’s the sheriff here—­and he’ll give us a square deal.  Now I’m goin’ back to interview that boy of yours some more.  I reckon you’re right proud of that kid, Jack.”

“Yes; I am.  Bobby’s a pretty good boy most ways.  But he swears something dreadful.”

“Pull a strap off of him,” said Pete warmly.  “That’s a damn fine boy, and you want to start him right.  That’s half the battle.”

Pete returned to the fire for a final cup of coffee.

“Young man,” he said, “would you know that brown horse Stan was ridin’ when you met up with him?”

“Awguan?  Sure!  I’d know him in hell!” said Bobby.

“Well, Stan turned that horse loose to rustle for himself, of course.  Do you reckon you could stir round and find him for me—­if your dad can spare you?  I want to go to the railroad to-night, and Awguan, he’s fresh.  My horses are tired.”

“If you don’t want that horse,” said Bobby, “don’t send me after him.”

“Now, Jack,” said Pete after Bobby had departed on the search for Awguan, “you go away and don’t pester me.  I want to think.”

To the processes of thought, for the space of four pipes, he gave aid by hugging his knees, as if he had called them in consultation.  Then he summoned Jackson Carr.

“How’re you fixed for work, Jack?”

“None.  I reckon to get plenty, though, when I get my teams fitted up.  They’re jaded from a lumber job.”

“You’re hired—­for a year, month, and day.  And as much longer as you like.  Suit you?”