from him in the way of help. You folks needn't be afraid I'll beat it. I'm seeing it through all right."
And, after complying with certain formalities, Allison let him go.
He knew Tom's popularity in the county; he was its best bronc rider and trick roper. And he knew too that the region as a whole supported his action in shooting Weasel Tail. He himself, an old cow-man, had a sneaking sympathy for him. Allison was coming up for reelection soon. It was no time to stress the law too hard.
By noon, to all intents and purposes, Tom was free. Old Tulloss, the banker, had to Tom's surprise gone on his bond. It was only when he was leaving that the Sheriff uttered a final word of caution.
"Better keep away from the Reservation, Tom," he said. "I understand your friend Little Dog's been stirring them up considerable, and they've got some bad actors up there."
"I'm aiming to get out of this trouble before I look for any more."
"That's the talk."
But Tom had one errand to be discharged before he left town for the ranch. There was no particular virtue in his attitude. The whole town was ringing with his return, and knew Clare must have heard of it. So to the bungalow, at Clare's lunch hour, he reluctantly repaired.
She was not at home yet, and her mother admitted him without cordiality.
"You can come in and wait if you want. She'll be here soon."
She started out, paused in the doorway with her lips tight, went on again.
He was uneasy; he rolled and lit a cigarette. After a wait he heard Clare coming in. She came slowly across the porch, and he heard her in the narrow hall.
"All right, mom."
Her voice was dispirited.
"You got company in the parlor," Mrs. Hamel called from the kitchen.
