CONTENTS
| CHAPTER | PAGE | |
| I | Back from the Dead | [3] |
| II | Crooked Work | [13] |
| III | Mistress Mary Quite Contrary | [24] |
| IV | The Branding-Iron | [31] |
| V | Tex Lynch | [41] |
| VI | The Blood-Stained Saddle | [51] |
| VII | Rustlers | [60] |
| VIII | The Hoodoo Outfit | [70] |
| IX | Revelations | [81] |
| X | Buck Finds Out Something | [91] |
| XI | Danger | [106] |
| XII | Thwarted | [119] |
| XIII | Counterplot | [127] |
| XIV | The Lady From the Past | [136] |
| XV | “Blackleg” | [145] |
| XVI | The Unexpected | [153] |
| XVII | The Primeval Instinct | [166] |
| XVIII | A Change of Base | [176] |
| XIX | The Mysterious Motor-Car | [186] |
| XX | Catastrophe | [197] |
| XXI | What Mary Thorne Found | [208] |
| XXII | Nerve | [219] |
| XXIII | Where the Wheel Tracks Led | [230] |
| XXIV | The Secret of North Pasture | [239] |
| XXV | The Trap | [248] |
| XXVI | Sheriff Hardenberg Intervenes | [256] |
| XXVII | An Hour Too Late | [268] |
| XXVIII | Forebodings | [276] |
| XXIX | Creeping Shadows | [284] |
| XXX | Lynch Scores | [291] |
| XXXI | Gone | [301] |
| XXXII | Buck Rides | [309] |
| XXXIII | Carried Away | [319] |
| XXXIV | The Fight on the Ledge | [332] |
| XXXV | The Dead Heart | [339] |
| XXXVI | Two Trails Converge | [345] |
SHOE-BAR STRATTON
CHAPTER I
BACK FROM THE DEAD
Westward the little three-car train chugged its way fussily across the brown prairie toward distant mountains which, in that clear atmosphere, loomed so deceptively near. Standing motionless beside the weather-beaten station shed, the solitary passenger watched it absently, brows drawn into a single dark line above the bridge of his straight nose. Tall, lean, with legs spread apart a bit and shoulders slightly bent, he made a striking figure against that background of brilliant sky and drenching, golden sunlight. For a brief space he did not stir. Then of a sudden, when the train had dwindled to the size of a child’s toy, he turned abruptly and drew a long, deep breath.
It was a curious transformation. A moment before his face—lined, brooding, somber, oddly pale for that country of universal tan—looked almost old. At least one would have felt it the face of a man who 4 had recently endured a great deal of mental or physical suffering. Now, as he turned with an unconscious straightening of broad shoulders and a characteristic uptilt of square, cleft chin, the lines smoothed away miraculously, a touch of red crept into his lean cheeks, an eager, boyish gleam of expectation flashed into the clear gray eyes that rested caressingly on the humdrum, sleepy picture before him.