“But you’ll come back home to-night, won’t you?” she asked anxiously.

“I would like to,” he said.  “And may I bring a friend?”

“Your friends are our friends, son,” she answered.

“Of course he’s comin’ back,” said the Dean.  “Where else would he go, I’d like to know?”

They watched him as he went to his prisoner, and as, unlocking the handcuff that held Nick’s right wrist, he re-locked it on his own left arm, thus linking his prisoner securely to himself.  Then he spoke to Joe, and the young man, dismounting, unfastened the rope that bound Nick’s feet.  When Nick was on the ground the three came toward the machine.

“I am afraid I must ask you to let someone take care of the horses,” called Patches to the Dean.

“I’ll look after them,” the Dean returned.  “Don’t forget now that you’re comin’ back to-night; Jim will bring you.”

Jim Reid, as the three men reached the automobile, said to Patches, “Will you take both of your prisoners in the back seat with you, or shall I take one of them in front with me?”

Patches looked the big man straight in the eyes, and they heard him answer with significant emphasis, as he placed his free hand on Yavapai Joe’s shoulder, “I have only one prisoner, Mr. Reid.  This man is my friend.  He will take whatever seat he prefers.”

Yavapai Joe climbed into the rear seat with the officer and his prisoner.

It was after dark when Mr. Reid returned to the ranch with Patches and Joe.

“You will find your room all ready, son,” said Mrs. Baldwin, “and there’s plenty of hot water in the bathroom tank for you both.  Joe can take the extra bed in Curly’s room.  You show him.  I’ll have your supper as soon as you are ready.”

Patches almost fell asleep at the table.  As soon as they had finished he went to his bed, where he remained, as Phil reported at intervals during the next forenoon, “dead to the world,” until dinner time.  In the afternoon they gathered under the walnut trees—­the Cross-Triangle household and the friends from the neighboring ranch—­and Patches told them his story; how, when he had left the ranch that night, he had ridden straight to his old friend Stanford Manning; and how Stanford had gone with him to the sheriff, where, through Manning’s influence, together with the letter which Patches had brought from the Dean, he had been made an officer of the law.  As he told them briefly of his days and nights alone, they needed no minute details to understand what it had meant to him.

“It wasn’t the work of catching Nick in a way to ensure his conviction that I minded,” he said, “but the trouble was, that while I was watching Nick day and night, and dodging him all the time, I was afraid some enthusiastic cow-puncher would run on to me and treat himself to a shot just for luck.  Not that I would have minded that so much, either, after the first week,” he added in his droll way, “but considering all the circumstances it would have been rather a poor sort of finish.”