his study was what he had expected: the writing
of the note to Marcia was sufficiently like Judith's to pass muster to
an uncritical eye, looking, in fact, what it purported to be, a very
hasty scrawl. But Lee decided that Judith had not written it. He
slipped it into his pocket.

Tripp was waiting for him, impatient and worried, when he came back
from the Upper End. From Tripp he learned that one of the men, a
fellow the boys called Yellow-jacket, had unexpectedly asked for his
time Saturday afternoon and had left the ranch, saying that he was sick.

"He's the chap who brought the fake note from you," said Lee. "It's
open and shut, Doc. Another one of Trevors's men that we ought to have
fired long ago. The one thing I can't get, is why he didn't do a
finished job of it and hang around until Miss Sanford left, then get
away with the note. It would have left no evidence behind him."

"She must have locked her door and windows when she went out," was
Tripp's solution. "And probably he didn't hang around wasting time and
taking chances."

Tripp's boyish face had lost its youthful look. His eyes, meeting
Lee's steadily, had in them an expression like Lee's.

"If it's Quinnion--" Tripp began. Then he stopped abruptly.

Lee and Tripp were together in the office not above fifteen minutes.
Then Tripp left to return to the Lower End, to get the rest of the men
out, to help in the big drive of cattle and horses which must be
returned to the shut-in valleys of the Upper End. Lee went to the
bunk-house, slipped revolver and cartridges into his pockets, took a
rifle and rode again to the old cabin.

"It's Trevors's big, last play," he told himself gravely, over and
over. "He'll be backing it up strong, playing his hand for all that
there's in it, and he'll have taken time and care to fill in his hand
so that we're bucking a royal flush. And there's only one way to beat
a royal flush, and that's with a gun. But I can't quite see the whole
play, Trevors; I can't quite see it."

There were enough men to do the night's work without him and Tommy
Burkitt, and Lee gave no thought now to Carson, swearing in the
darkness of some shadow-filled gorge. He did not know what the
morrow's work would be for him, but he made his preparations none the
less, eager for the coming dawn. He fried many slices of bacon while
Hampton glared at him and Tommy watched him interestedly; he made a
light, compact lunch, such as best "st