Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the veranda rail, and alighted square in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex. The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute.
Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they raced down the street and disappeared round a corner.
"What is it?" queried Alice Weston.
Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer the girl's question.
"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you yesterday."
Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I—shall we get ready for dinner?" she stammered.
Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your—Mr.
Adams will be back to-night?"
"Not this evening," replied Waring.
"You mean that he won't be back at all?"
"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse."