ty down in the
Malpais."

Nevertheless he sat down, and, over the biscuits and jam, told the
meagre story of what he had found out.

The finding of the stocking-footed roan near Noches so soon after the
robbery disposed of Healy's lie, though it did not prove that Keller had
not been riding it at the time of the holdup. As for Healy, Yeager
confessed he saw no way of implicating him. His alibi was just as good
as that of any of them.

But there was one person his story did involve, and that was Spiker, the
tinhorn, tenderfoot sport of Noches. During the absence of this young
man at the gaming table, Jim and his friend, Sam Weaver, had got into
his room with a skeleton key and searched it thoroughly. They had found,
in a suit case, a black mask, a pair of torn and shiny chaps, a gray
shirt, a white, dusty sombrero, much the worse for wear, and over three
hundred dollars in bills.

"What does he pretend his business is?" Keller asked, when Jim had
finished.

"Allows he's a showfer. Drives folks around in a gasoline wagon. That's
the theory, but I notice he turned down a mining man who wanted to get
him to run him into the hills on Monday. Said he hadn't time. The
showfer biz is a bluff, looks like."

The nester made no answer. His eyes, narrowed to slits, were gazing out
of the window absently. Presently he came from deep thought to ask
Yeager to hand him the map he would find in his inside coat pocket. This
he spread out on the bed in front of him. When at last he looked up he
was smiling.

"I reckon it's no bluff, Jim. He's a chauffeur, all right, but he only
drives out select outfits."

"Meaning?"

The map lying in front of Keller was one of Noches County. The nester
located, with his index finger, the town of that name, and traced the
road from it to Seven Mile. Then his finger went back to Noches, and
followed the old military road to Fort Lincoln, a route which almost
paralleled the one to the ranch.

The eyes of Phyllis were already shining with excitement. She divined
what was coming.

"Is this road still travelled, Jim?"

"It goes out to the old fort. Nobody has lived there for most thirty
years. I reckon the road ain't travelled much."

"Strikes through Del Oro Canon, doesn't it, right after it leaves
Noches?"

"Yep."

"I reckon, Jim, your friend, Spiker, drove a party out that way the
afternoon of the holdup," the nester drawled smilingly. "By the way, is
your friend in the lockup?"

"H