with a broken leg. But it was a wooden hobbyhorse that John Timmon's little Jimmy got last Christmas. Can you beat that for a joke on a horse doctor?"

They laughed and said they couldn't, then the storekeeper inquired: "Was you aimin' to go out to the ranch?”

"Yes," Ted replied. "The Colonel was to meet us here today."

"That so?" the little man remarked, giving a box of thread a more conspicuous place on the show-case. "The Colonel seems to be gittin' kindly popular of late. A nice-lookin' young lady was in this morning, and she's goin' out to the ranch, too."

Ted replied with another question, but Mulvay didn't catch the words. He was a newspaper man by profession, and, with the curiosity of a good reporter, had continued his examination of the store. And he found something that held his interest.

Along the front of the counter, below the mail-rack, were numerous posters; circulars of fering rewards for the capture of outlaws, the rewards ranging up to five thousand dollars.

"Are you the sheriff, too?" Mulvay suddenly asked the proprietor. "I see you have a few choice samples from the Rogue's Gallery here?"

"Nope. Pete Gregory's the sheriff, but he always posts the circulars here so the ranchers can see them when they come for their mail." The storekeeper came from behind the counter as he finished speaking and called attention to one poster that offered a reward of five thousand dollars for three men.

"These fellows are what you might call local talent," he stated, "because they operate right in this neighborhood. You notice their pictures ain't shown, because nobody's ever had time to take their pictures when they're in action."

Mulvay struck a match on his thumb-nail, the way Hart does, and lit a cigarette.

"When it comes to nerve, the Coverall Brothers just about take the mustard," the little man continued. "There's three of them, you see, and they call them that because they always wear long suits of coveralls over their clothes when they do a job."

He stopped and pointed through the door, up the street.

getaway with all the gold dust and ready cash in the company safe. And they ain't been seen since."

There might have been more to the story, but at that moment interruption came. A small boy ran up to the porch and breathlessly exclaimed: "They're waitin' for you over at Johnson's, Mr. Snead."

"By Jove! that's right," the storekeeper said. "That means I'll have to go, boys. But you're welcome to wait here for the Colonel if you want to. You see, I'm the Justice of the Peace here and there's a couple waitin' at Johnson's for me to marry them."

Mulvay laughed openly, but Ted replied: "We'd rather walk about some, but we'll leave our suitcases here, if you don't mind."

"Sure, you can. I'll be back in a little while." Snead started toward the rear and Ted and Mulvay stepped outside.

Commenting on the little town, the storekeeper, and other subjects of interest, they unconcernedly strolled up the street. Rather suddenly, Ted exclaimed: "Well, what do you know about that?" Mulvay turned.

Across the street was a picture-show; the only one they had noticed in Corna. And across the front of the building was a sign that read: "Pictures of the Vickers-Malloy Fight Shown Here Tonight. See the Welterweight Champion in Action." They crossed the street.

Before the ticket office was a big lithograph; a picture of Ted in fighting pose. Astonishment was evident on Ted's face, but Mulvay saw humor in the situation.

"Rather a small old world, after all, isn't it?" he inquired.

"You sneak out of Chicago in the middle of the night, travel seven hundred miles into the wild and woolly West and pretend to be a Boston doctor, all to escape publicity while you take a little vacation-and stumble onto your picture as soon as you get here."

Ted smiled in reply and stood looking down at the picture. And at that instant a girl walked by. She merely glanced at them, and Mulvay offered her no more attention than a casual look-until she did something that drew more of his attention.

She stopped, glanced from Ted to the picture before the theater and back again, as a slow smile crossed her face. For an instant she hesitated, then she stepped toward the champion and held out her hand.

"You're Ted Vickers, aren't you?" she inquired, smilingly. “You see, I read the sport

Mulvay felt a sudden impulse to ask if she wouldn't like to meet a man who wrote sporting pages, but he forgot that impulse as he heard Ted reply: "I'm quite often mistaken for Vickers because we look so much alike, but I am Doctor Carrol, of Boston. My friend and I are visiting my uncle, Colonel Stevens, who owns a large cattle ranch near here."

To Mulvay, the girl's startled "Oh!" was significant of several emotions. Surprise, disappointment and something akin to consternation all seemed combined in that little exclamation. She followed it by saying: "I beg your pardon," to Ted, and with a slight lift of the dainty lashes and another glance from Ted to the picture, turned and walked on up the street.

"As a doctor, you don't seem to be much of a social lion," Mulvay remarked aloud. To himself, he was saying that the girl's recognition of Ted had seemed a wee bit unusual; as though she really knew the champion and his denial had prevented her from reminding him of where and how they had met.

I

"She seemed to freeze right up as soon as mentioned Doctor Carrol," Ted answered. "I always thought doctors out-classed prizefighters from the social standpoint."

"Maybe you've picked the wrong doctor? This man may have a bad reputation that she knows about."

"That couldn't be," Ted stated, the expression in his firm, handsome face showing his bewilderment. "In the first place, the Colonel wouldn't have suggested that I use the name unless his nephew was all right, and besides, he said Doctor Carrol had never been West, so how could she know anything about him?"

"Well, it's your game," Mulvay laughed. "All I can do is to back your play." He started to strike another match on his thumb and missed; perhaps because three men had just walked up and he was surprised to see so many of the population on the street at once. He made good with the match on a second effort and re-lighted his cigarette as he stood watching the three.

They were tough-and they didn't care who knew it. That was evident from their walk, from the way their hats were pulled down over their eyes and from the steady, scrutinizing looks they shot at the two partners. As one noticed the fight advertisement, he made some comment on Ted's ability as a boxer, though Mulvay didn't catch the words. Then they stopped before the picture.

"Aw, these pugs always give me a pain," a big, red-haired, rough-featured man who appeared to be the leader remarked. "They may be able to do some fancy side-stepping in a ring, but I'd like to bet I could handle a dozen of 'em in a real fight." The words were an idle boast and the look he gave Ted was only for the purpose of seeing what effect the boast had made. But a quick look flashed across Ted's face at the remark; a look that Mulvay had seen there twice before-and both times Ted had won fights with a knockout soon after.

With a certain cat-like quickness, the champion shifted his weight and faced the speaker, though he stepped no closer.

"Any particular amount you'd like to bet?" he asked easily.

Mulvay, remembering that he was in the West, and remembering another trick of Hart's, exposed the butt of an automatic as the three faced Ted. For a few seconds there was silence.

"You might be a fighter yourself?" guessed the leader. "You look an awful lot like this Vickers."

"I might be," Ted made answer, a certain "hard quality" in his voice. "And you fellows might be the Coverall Brothers for all I know, but whether you are or not, I'm willing to give you credit for being able to play your own game. See?"

The red-haired man exchanged glances with his companions.

"I guess you win this hand, Mister," he said evenly. "Any objections if me and my partners wander on down the street?"

"Not in the least," Ted laughed. And they did.

"I think we'd better go back to the postoffice," Mulvay suggested, pocketing the gun as the three passed beyond hearing. "You're finding more excitement here than a farmer boy could on Broadway."

Ted laughed as they started back. Just before they reached the store, Ted exclaimed: "Here comes the Colonel." An instant later, a Ford car drew up before the store, a smiling, white-haired old cattleman at the wheel.

There was a certain air of sincerity about Ted, as, with one foot on the step, he shook hands with the old ranchman, that somehow made Mulvay feel prouder of his friendship with the champion. And when he, too, feit the hearty grip of the old cattleman, he understood better why Ted and the Colonel were such good friends.

After the greeting, the Colonel jerked open the door of the car.

"Jump in, boys," he invited. "I'm sorry I was late getting in but I had a bad blow-out on the way to town. I got to go by the hotel a minute, but we'll be at the ranch in time for supper, anyway."

Ted climbed into the front seat beside the Colonel and by the time Mulvay had arranged the suitcases at his feet, they were stopping before the building the Colonel pointed out as the hotel.

"You boys can wait in the car if you want to," he said, stopping the machine and stepping out. "I'll be right out in a jiffy."

"The more I see of the Colonel, the better I like him," Ted remarked, as the old cattleman entered the hotel.

"That's

"Same here," Mulvay answered. why I "front-paged" his picture with you that time in Chicago and ran that story about how you first met him. He was so tickled over that little yarn he bought a dozen copies of the News to take home with him. And it was the best "human interest" story I ever wrote, at that."

The Colonel wasn't gone long and when he returned, he brought a surprise. The surprise was a young lady; and the same young lady who had spoken to Ted before the theater. Whatever feeling Mulvay had at the meeting was more than overcome by Ted's embarrassment at seeing the girl. From his position in the rear seat, Mulvay noticed the champion's face coloring, even as the Colonel came out with her.

"This is Doctor Carrol, my nephew, Miss Reynolds," was the introduction the cattleman offered; and Mulvay could have sworn that he heard a faint chuckle with the words.

Mulvay was watching the girl's face now.

At first, he thought she merely displayed interest; as though she might have been pleasantly anticipating the meeting. Then a closer look showed a lurking smile in her eyes; a smile that meant she remembered the previous meeting.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Reynolds," Ted had acknowledged, offering his hand in much the same gingerly fashion in which he usually touched gloves with a dangerous opponent before a fight.

embarrassment. He introduced the girl to Mulvay, helped her into the rear seat, made room in the car for her suitcases, and climbing into his place, started the machine.

"I've heard of you quite often, Miss Reynolds," Mulvay said, as the car started. "In fact, I've several times intended getting over to see you play since you've been in Chicago. You're at the Broadway, now, aren't you?" He had felt it necessary to open conversation with the girl and had chosen her work for that

purpose.

Her quick look registered surprise, but she nodded or at least, Mulvay thought she did.

"I don't remember meeting you before," she remarked-then caught herself, evidently remembering his being with Ted at the theater.

"You haven't. I'm on the Daily News, but I've heard Art Roach, our theatrical man, say some very nice things about your acting."

A slight change of expression crossed her perfectly-molded face; just a tightening of the little muscles about her mouth that hinted of annoyance, but Mulvay noticed, and with quick tact, changed the subject to books. A subject on which they were still interestedly talking when the Colonel drove up before the ranch house.

The house, made of adobe, was low and rambling in structure, with an air of inviting coolness. Giant cottonwoods surrounded it on all sides, their branches gently swaying to the slight breeze.

"Looks inviting, doesn't it?" Mulvay said to the girl as he helped her from the car. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do than just stretch out on that porch and take a nap."

However, that wasn't to be. The Colonel set the suitcases on the porch as an elderly woman came to meet the girl and with a glance up at the sun, remarked: "If you boys ain't too tired, I can give you a general idea of the layout here before time for supper."

Getting a general idea of the ranch took an hour and by the time they had returned and the Colonel had driven the car into its place at one end of the barn, darkness was coming on.

The girl was smiling sweetly now.

The Colonel stopped and put a finger to his lips.

"Here's the boys I told you about in Chicago," he said. "They're the worst practical jokers in seven states, and if they ever find out you're not a real doctor, Ted, they'll make life miserable for you."

The boys shook hands with western freedom; soberly, and as though they were really glad to meet "The Doctor" and "Mr. Mulvay." Then the Colonel led the way to the house.

Mrs. Stevens, whose kindly smile and gray hair reminded Mulvay of his own mother, was taking up the supper from a big kitchen range when they entered the back door, but she stopped long enough to greet Mulvay pleasantly and indulge in the faintest wink as she pretended to remember Ted. The meal was almost ready and as soon as the boys had washed, the Colonel invited them to the table.

Supper started off nicely, with the girl on one side of Ted and Mulvay on the other. The Colonel and Mrs. Stevens occupied the end chairs, and the practical jokers, whom both the Colonel and his wife addressed by their first names and spoke of as "the boys," were side by side, across the table.

For a time, the conversation was general and commonplace, then the girl, with a teasing little smile, looked up and said: "Suppose you tell us something of your work, Doctor. I'm sure a prominent physician must meet with many interesting experiences."

The remark caught Mulvay napping, but he looked around in time to notice one of the boys slyly nudge his companions.

"Charlie tells me you're a famous actress," Ted countered. "I'm sure we'd much rather hear of your stage experiences."

"I'm modest, too," the girl replied. "Suppose we talk about the Colonel's ranch?” And they did till supper was over.

When the chairs were pushed back, Miss Reynolds announced her intention of helping Mrs. Stevens with the dishes, and the Colonel, with a box of cigars under his arm, led Ted and Mulvay to the front porch.

Ted couldn't partake of the cigars. Athletics forbade him that pleasure, but he did help to make the conversation interesting and the better part of two hours had flitted by when the girl suddenly came out on the porch and hurried to them.

"Oh, Colonel!" she exclaimed. "One of the boys is terribly sick, and Mrs. Stevens wants you and the doctor." Perhaps it was because his wife had sent word that caused the Colonel

to act so promptly, but at any rate, he arose hurriedly and led the way around to the side of the house where the boys had rooms.

One of the three-the one Mulvay had heard the Colonel address as "Cal," was stretched out on the bed, his shirt open at the throat, and apparently suffering great pain. Mrs. Stevens and the other two boys were trying to quiet him. The older woman surrendered her place to the girl and hurried to the Colonel.

"I don't know what's the matter with him," she quavered, "but he's awfully sick." She fluttered from the room and the Colonel stepped over to the bed.

"What's the trouble, Cal?" he asked, but a deep groan was the only answer. In a moment, Mrs. Stevens returned, bringing an oldfashioned family medicine-box, filled with bottles and packages.

Mulvay turned toward Ted. The champion had stopped just inside the door, his face the picture of surprise. Evidently he realized that this sudden turn of events meant his denoue

ment.

"Where's Doctor Carrol?" the girl asked from the bed. "Why doesn't he come and take charge?" And then Ted did a surprising thing.

With a brisk step and an air of supreme selfconfidence, he stepped across the room and caught up the sick man's wrist, then jerked out his watch and stood, apparently counting the pulse-beats.

"Pulse normal," he announced an instant later, releasing the arm. Then he leaned over the bed and said: "Show me where the pain is."

The man groaned again and Ted placed a hand on his stomach.

"Does it hurt here?" Cal nodded feebly.

"Just what I feared," Ted remarked. "Acute indigestion-and a very bad attack." He turned to the medicine-box that had been placed on the table and took up a bottle.

"This man's in a dangerous condition," he continued, facing the others in the room. "Here's one of the most effective remedies known to medical science, but physicians always hesitate to use it-because, if it doesn't cure-it kills." He held up the bottle as he finished speaking. It was labelled "strychnine." Then he turned to the Colonel and spoke in an undertone.

"Go ahead and use it if you think best," advised the Colonel. "You're a doctor and I guess you ought to know your business." (Continued on page 65)