expressed his contrition, and pleaded in extenuation that he was rather worthy of sympathy than blame, because he would never have laid hands on what was not his had not a white man sold him deleterious liquor.  As no white man is allowed to supply an Indian with alcohol in any form, the wardens of the prairie took a somewhat similar view of the case, and Stimson was, from motives which he did not mention, especially anxious to get his grip upon the other offender.

The night when they rode out was very dark, and they spent half of it beneath a birch bluff, seeing nothing whatever, and only hearing a coyote howl.  It almost appeared there was something wrong with the information supplied them respecting the probable running of another load of prohibited whisky, and towards morning Stimson rode up to the young commissioned officer.

“The man who brought us word has either played their usual trick and sent us here while his friends take the other trail, or somebody saw us ride out and went south to tell the boys,” he said.  “Now, you might consider it advisable that I and one of the troopers should head for the ford at Willow Hollow, sir.”

“Yes,” said the young officer, who was quite aware that there were as yet many things connected with his duties he did not know.  “Now I come to think of it, Sergeant, I do.  We’ll give you two hours, and then, if you don’t turn up, ride over after you; it’s condemnably shivery waiting for nothing here.”

Stimson saluted and shook his bridle, and rather less than an hour later faintly discerned a rattle of wheels that rose from a long way off across the prairie.  Then he used the spur, and by and by it became evident that the drumming of their horses’ feet had carried far, for, though the rattle grew a little louder, there was no doubt that whoever drove the wagon had no desire to be overtaken.  Still, two horses cannot haul a vehicle over a rutted trail as fast as one can carry a man, and when the wardens of the prairie raced towards the black wall of birches that rose higher in front of them, the sound of wheels seemed very near.  It, however, ceased suddenly, and was followed by a drumming that could only have been made by a galloping horse.

“One beast!” said the Sergeant.  “Well, they’d have two men, any way, in that wagon.  Get down and picket.  We’ll find the other fellow somewhere in the bluff.”

They came upon him within five minutes endeavoring to cut loose the remaining horse from the entangled harness in such desperate haste that he did not hear them until Stimson grasped his shoulder.

“Hold out your hands,” he said.  “You have your carbine ready, trooper?”

The man made no resistance, and Stimson laughed when the handcuffs were on.

“Now,” he said, “where’s your partner?”

“I don’t know that I mind telling you,” said the prisoner.  “It was a low down trick he played on me.  We got down to take out the horses when we saw we couldn’t get away from you, and I’d a blanket girthed round the best of them, when he said he’d hold him while I tried what I could do with the other.  Well, I let him, and the first thing I knew he was off at a gallop, leaving me with the other kicking devil two men couldn’t handle.  You’ll find him rustling south over the Montana trail.”