At the other end of the Highbank-Gunsight trail the warm afternoon was drawing to a close and the shadows of the buildings were reaching out across the dirt streets when a dust-covered, four-horse freight wagon rolled down the steep bank across the river to an accompaniment of rattling trace chains and grinding brakes, passed the end of the ford, followed the road along the river\'s edge and crept out onto the big, flat-bottomed ferry which awaited it.

"On time to a tick," smiled the ferryman, poling off and shifting the lengths of the trolley ropes leading to the block which ran on the great, sagging cable overhead The current struck the side of the craft at the changed angle and sent it slowly across.

"I got an extra early start," explained Buffalo. "Got a fine load of hides."

"You young fellers are h—l on branchin\' out," said the ferryman, grinning.

"Well," replied the freighter, "they was lyin\' there; I only picked \'em up."

"Here we are; hold tight," laughed the boatman. He used his pole deftly and the ferry struck the bank squarely. Making it fast, he lowered the short gang-plank. "All ashore, an\' good luck!"

The quartet strained and the wagon rumbled up the[165] bank and then up the road in the wide ravine, and in a few minutes struck the level at the top and entered the main street of the town.

"Brazos" Larkin, town marshal, pushed away from the Highbank bank and rolled out to the wagon, stepped on a hub and then up to the footboard, as was his custom.

"Judgin\' from th\' way those no-\'count hosses was pullin\' when they come over th\' hill," he said, "I reckoned you got th\' hides; but now I\'m dead shore of it."

"Yep," chuckled Buffalo, "they smells good to me."

"Dodge th\' Injuns all right?" asked Brazos, indulging in a time-honored jest.

"Dodged \'em ag\'in," gravely nodded the driver. "Here comes th\' postmaster. Hello, Jim!"

Jim Hands walked up to the wagon and alongside as it turned the corner and stopped before a frame building bearing in weather-bleached letters across its front: "Wheatley\'s Express." As it stopped, a tall, lean young man came out and smiled.

"Everythin\' all right, Pop?" he asked.

"Right as a dollar. Can\'t you smell \'em?" chuckled the old man.

"Jerry," said Brazos, "I hears yo\'re quittin\' th\' office for a wagon next week?"

"I am; I wanted to swap jobs right along with Pop. Now that we\'re goin\' to run two waggins I\'ll get a chance to bust out of this jail; an\' Pop can still see his friends along th\' trail, too. I start in a day or two."

A small group came up and joined them. In it was Rod Wilson, the liveryman; Reb Travers, the railroad[166] freight agent; and Pete Wiggins, the owner of the hotel. They all were cronies of the same vintage as the driver and formed a closed circle into which, however, they had admitted Brazos.

"Bet you didn\'t git a load," said Rod.

"Bet you didn\'t git half a load," amended Reb.

"I\'ll show you scoffin\' mossbacks what I got," retorted Buffalo, rising to the bait. He clambered down and went to the rear of the wagon, untied the knots and threw back the canvas. As he paused to wonder how the bale had become spread out, the top skin moved up and down, and he jerked back his hand. "There\'s some kind of a varmint in there!" he cried in pardonable amazement.

Brazos left the group with a leap and reached for the hide as his gun slanted down on it. Giving it a quick, hard jerk, he threw it behind him and then gazed in astonishment at a pair of boots which moved energetically, while strange, strangled gurgles were heard in the wagon box. "I\'m d—d!" he muttered. "What th\'—who th\'—how th\'—" He grabbed hold of a boot and pulled heartily. It resisted and tried to kick. Following his gun under the canvas, he moved another skin and then emerged and stared at Buffalo.

"What is it?" demanded the freighter. "Who is it? How\'d he git there, hey?"

"It\'s Wolf Forbes, blindfolded, gagged, hog-tied, an\' lashed to th\' box," accused Brazos. "Was you aimin\' to skin him when you had more time?"

"Skin him?" indignantly retorted Buffalo. "You can\'t skin him; he\'s so tough a plough wouldn\'t scratch[167] his hide. How\'d he git in there, an\' tie hisself up like that?"

"Mebby you can tell that to a jury," retorted Brazos, slying winking at the dumfounded group. "However, unless we want to call on a coroner\'s jury first, we better git him out," and, slipping the gun into its holster, he plunged back under the canvas.

Pete Wiggins was the first of the group to recover. "After all these years we done found you out!" he exulted.

"What\'s wrong?" demanded Jerry, from the office.

"Yore Pop is bringin\' in hide on th\' hoof," declared Reb.

"Kidnappin\' innercent punchers like Wolf Forbes," accused Pete.

"Cuss it!" snorted Buffalo. "What I want you fools to tell me is how he got there?"

"You can\'t slip out that way," asserted Rod.

They listened to what Brazos was saying under the canvas. "Tied up four ways from th\' Jack," he announced. "Rolled up in a stinkin\' hide, he was, all but his head an\' arms. Cuss me! this is somethin\' new to me; an\' I reckoned I\'d been up ag\'in\' everythin\' in human cussedness. How fur did he come this way?"

"How in h—l do I know!" blazed Buffalo, his thin chin whiskers bobbing pugnaciously. "I didn\'t even know he was there!"

"You can\'t never tell," said a voice back in the crowd. "Sometimes it comes out in a man when he\'s even older\'n Buffalo. Reckon it\'s th\' breed."

"I\'ll show you what\'s in my breed!" shouted the[168] freighter, pushing into the press. "Let me git a-holt of th\' skunk as said that an\'—an\'—an\'—" he faltered.

Pete grabbed him and pulled him back again. "None of that!" he warned. "You stay right here till we find out more about this!"

"Startin\' a passenger business, too, I reckon," said the same voice. "Bein\' an old hand on th\' cattle trail he knowed a herd will often foller if one cow crosses a river."

"He got so used to skinnin\' buffalers that he\'s itchin\' to try it on a human," said another. "I says he shows spunk, pickin\' Wolf to try it on."

"There\'s tricks in all trades," said Jim Hands.

"\'Cept freightin\'," laughed Jerry.

"Somebody pass in a knife," re............