Publisher's Synopsis
In the morning, after breakfasting early, I took a turn up and down the main street of Sanderson, made observations and got information likely to serve me at some future day, and then I returned to the hotel ready for what might happen. The stage-coach was there and already full of passengers. This stage did not go to Linrock, but I had found that another one left for that point three days a week. Several cowboy broncos stood hitched to a railing and a little farther down were two buckboards, with horses that took my eye. These probably were the teams Colonel Sampson had spoken of to George Wright. As I strolled up, both men came out of the hotel. Wright saw me, and making an almost imperceptible sign to Sampson, he walked toward me. "You're the cowboy Russ?" he asked. I nodded and looked him over. By day he made as striking a figure as I had noted by night, but the light was not generous to his dark face. "Here's your pay," he said, handing me some bills. "Miss Sampson
