r a moment that either man
could have committed the crime, or have planned it, she wanted them
cleared of the doubt in the eyes of the world. Her disappointment was
acute when she saw that Trowbridge did not deem the shell to be
convincing proof of Bailey's guilt.

"Don't go too fast now, Dorothy," he cautioned. "This shell proves that
Bailey's gun was fired, but it doesn't prove that Bailey's finger pulled
the trigger, or that the gun was aimed at Jensen. Bailey might have
loaned the rifle to somebody, or he might have fired at a snake, like I
did a few minutes ago."

"Oh, he might have done anything, of course. But the shell is some
evidence, isn't it? It casts the doubt on Tug Bailey, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does that, all right. It casts it further than him." The
cattleman spoke positively. "It's a clew, that's what it is. We've got a
clew and we've got a motive, and we didn't have either of them
yesterday."

"How do you suppose that shell got where you found it?" she asked, her
voice full of hope.

"Bailey must have levered it out of his rifle, after the shooting, and
it fell into that hole. You see,"--he could not resist making the
triumphant point once more,--"if I hadn't stopped to look for another
rattler, I never would have found it. Just that chance--just a little
chance like that--throws the biggest criminals. Funny, ain't it?" But
she was too preoccupied with the importance of the discovery to dwell on
his gifts as a sleuth.

"What can we do about it, Lem?" She gave her pony her head and they
began to move slowly. "What ought we to do?"

"I'll find this fellow, Bailey, and wring the truth out of him," he
answered grimly; and her eyes sparkled. "If I'm not greatly mistaken,
though, he was only the tool."

"Meaning that Moran...."

"And Rexhill," Trowbridge snapped. "They are the men higher up, and the
game we're really gunning for. They hired Bailey to shoot Jensen so that
the crime might be fastened on to Gordon. I believe that as fully as I'm
alive this minute; the point is to prove it."

"Then we've no time to waste," she said, touching her pony with the
quirt. "We mustn't loiter here. Suppose Bailey has been sent away?"

The thought of this caused them to urge their tired horses along at
speed. Many times during the ride which followed Trowbridge looked
admiringly at his companion as she rode on, untiringly, side by side
with him. A single man himself, he had come to feel very tenderly towar