“You do look kind o’ shook-up.  Better eat.”

“I sure got room,” said Sundown.  “Fetch me a basket of doughnuts and a pail of coffee.  That there Fly—­cayuse sure left me, but he didn’t take me appetite.”

After the third cup of coffee and the seventh doughnut, Sundown asserted that he felt better.  They sauntered out to the street.

“How in blazes did you get loose?” queried Shoop, surveying the unkempt adventurer with frank amazement.

“Blazes is correct.  I clumb out of the window.”

“Set her on fire?”

“Not with mellishus extent, as the judge says.  Mebby it was a cigarette.  I dunno.  First thing I know I was dreamin’ I smelt smoke and the dream sure come true.  If them bars had been a leetle closter together, I reckon I would be tunin’ a harp, right now.”

“How did you happen to jump our train—­and get off here?” asked Corliss.

“It was sure lucky,” said Sundown, grinning.  “I run ’round back of the station and snook up and crawled under the platform in front.  I could see everybody hoppin’ ’round and I figured I was safer on the job, expectin’ they’d be lookin’ for me to beat it out of town.  Then you fellas come up and stood talkin’ right over me head.  Bud he says somethin’ about eatin’ breakfast in Usher, and bein’ hungry and likin’ good comp’ny, I waits till the train pulls up and crawls under the baggage.  And here I be.”

“We’ll have to get you a hat and a coat.  We’ll stop at the next barber-shop.  You wash up and get shaved.  We’ll wait.  Then we’ll head for the court-house.”

“Me ranch?” And Sundown beamed through his grime.  “Makes me feel like writin’ a pome!  Now, mebby—­”

“Haven’t time, now.  Got to scare up two more witnesses to go on your paper.  There’s a place, just opening up.”

They crossed the street.  Next to the barbershop was a saloon.

Sundown eyed the sign pensively.  “I ain’t a drinkin’ man—­regular,” he said, “but there are times . . .”

“There are times,” echoed Corliss, and the three filed between the swing-doors and disappeared.

An hour later three men, evidently cow-men from their gait and bearing, passed along the main street of Usher and entered the court-house, where they were met by two citizens.  The five men were admitted to the inner sanctum of the hall of justice, from which they presently emerged, laughing and joking.  The tallest of them seemed to be receiving the humorous congratulations of his companions.  He shook hands all around and remarked half-apologetically:  “I ain’t a drinkin’ man, reg’lar . . . but there are times . . .”

The five men drifted easily toward the swing-doors.  Presently they emerged.  Shoop nudged his employer.  David Loring and his daughter had just crossed the street.  The old sheep-man glanced at the group in front of the saloon and blinked hard.  Of the West, he read at a glance the situation.  Sundown, Corliss, and Shoop raised their hats as Eleanor Loring bowed.