NOVEMBER JOE
"You'll pay me for this, Simon Evans!"
"It won't be for a while—not till they let you out again," retorted the warden easily. "Take him off up the trail, Bill."
The rangers walked away with their prisoner, and Evans turned to Joe.
"Guess I have the laugh of you, November," he said.
"Looks that way. Where you takin' him?"
"To Lavette. I've sent word to Mrs. Rone to come there to-morrow. And now," continued Evans, "I'm going to search Black's shack."
"What for?"
"The stolen pelts."
"Got a warrant?"
"I'm a warden—don't need one."
"You'll not search without it," said November, moving in front of the door.
"Who'll stop me?" Evans's chin shot out doggedly.
"I might," said Joe in his most gentle manner.
Evans glared at him. "You?"
"I'm in the right, for it's ag'in' the law, and you know it, Mr. Evans."
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