tion for visiting the mysterious ranch. He rubbed some dirt on his face and hands, disheveled his hair and turned up one leg of his trousers. Then he borrowed the rather large headgear that Hans wore and pulled it far down over his head.
"How will that do?" he drawled. "Say, is my pap anywhere around this yere ranch?"
"Mine cracious! of dot ton't beat der Irish!'* gasped Hans. "Tom, you vos make a first-class detector alretty!"
"He certainly looks like an Alabama country boy," was Fred's comment. A few touches more to his disguise and Tom was ready to depart for the ranch. He called Songbird aside.
"Watch that old man," he whispered. "He may not be as innocent as he looks. Don't let him get to the ranch. If he does, our cake will be dough."
"Of course you don't expect to catch up to the wagon," said Songbird.
"No, but if I do, I'll go ahead anyway—if Mr. Monday will let me."
It was not long after this that Tom left the others. He struck oujt boldly along the poorly defined wagon trail which led over some rough rocks and down into hollows now filled with water. The marks of the wagon ahead were
