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said.
He grinned at her. Another "lady" for the town.
"Sure thing," he said. "Come right in."
As she entered the gateway, she was aware of the distant autohorns honking. She noticed that the man made a face toward the direction of that sound, wondered about that, then rode on. The gates closed behind her. The man watched her appreciatively. Not like the others who came here. This one was young and looked like a real lady . . . hard to tell them these days. He wondered what lucky man would get this one. Why wonder? Koy, naturally. And a mile away on a shaded hill, the watching patrolmen lowered their binoculars and stared at each other in amazement
"Could that be Caroline Weeks? Or was it someone who looked like her?"
"Someone who looked like her. What would Caroline be doing out here?"
"Right. She must be"—he looked at his watch—"having lunch with the old man right now."
"Right. But ■"
"But what?"
"That horse. It looked like Dynamite."
"Lots of brown horses look like Dynamite."
"Let's call in anyhow, to make sure."
"Right."
They reached the Patrol headquarters radio room.
"Everything lousy as usual out there?" said the cheery voice of the H. Q. operator.
"As usual. Say, do you happen to know—is Miss Weeks having lunch with the Colonel?"
"Now what business is that of yours, bub?"
"Put it down to unrequited love."
"We're in the same club, bub. Nope, the beauteous lady took off on her brown charger this A.M . I saw her go. Wished I was going too."
The two patrolmen looked at each other in alarm.
"Find out if she's back yet."
"Why bub?"
"No questions. Please, just make it fast. Urgent."
"Urgent? Er, sure."
They waited in their vehicle on top of the shaded hill, a mile from Killer's Town. Then the radio broke in.
"This is Colonel Weeks. Sergeant Hill?"
"Yes sir."
"Why are you asking about my daughter."
Sergeant Hill gulped, looked at his partner, then plunged
in.
"I don't wish to alarm you, sir. Maybe it wasn't Miss Weeks at all."
"What wasn't? Come to the point, Hill."
"We watched a red-haired girl in a red shirt ride a brown horse into Killer's Town a few minutes ago, sir."
"Killer's Town. Who was it?" % ,
"We're a mile away, sir, as you know. Wc were both watching through binoculars."
"How could you imagine it was—she was—my daughter?"
"It's stupid, sir, but we both got the same idea."
"Was the woman taken in by force, Hill?"
"No sir. Rode up by herself, went in by herself. No force."
"My god!" A silence. Then, "Can't be. I'll send out men to find her. Keep in touch. Over."
The men went out. Naturally, they didn't find her. But they did talk to people who'd seen her racing by, entering the Phantom Trail. The men, patrolmen trained in tracking, followed the hoofprints of Dynamite all the way to the sign: "Killer's Town —Private—No Admittance."
As Caroline rode into the town, she was surprised by the empty streets. It should be buzzing with people at midday. She couldn't know that the inhabitants of Killer's Town caroused all night and slept half the day. Most of them were just now having breakfast. There were a few native workmen sitting in the shade eating a simple lunch. One man walked out on the street, ah old barefooted man with a scraggly beard and ragged clothes, carrying a can of beer. Caroline reined up the tired Dynamite beside him.
"Sir, where can I go for a sandwich and tea?"
He shaded his eyes and looked up at her. Ages had passed since anyone called him sir.
"The inn over there, I guess," he said.
"Thank you, sir."
She rode off. He shook his head. He knew a lady when he saw one. Such a fresh, lovely young woman. What was she doing here? Caroline rode to the middle of the block, to the big white building set back from the street, fronted by a broad green lawn. She giggled at the sign: Killer Hilton. She dismounted, tied Dynamite to a gatepost, and walked into the inn. It seemed an odd hotel, no bellboys, no desk clerks, no front desk. In fact, no one but a tall thin man who looked at her curiously and,