critically the most trifling gesture or change of
expression. For a while his natural skepticism struggled with a growing
conviction that the man before him was telling the truth. It was an
extraordinary experience, to be sure, but he quickly realized that
Stratton had nothing to gain by a deliberate imposture.

"You can prove all that, of course?" he asked when Buck had finished.

"Of course. I haven't any close relatives, but there are plenty of men
who'll swear to my identity."

The sheriff sat silent for a moment. "Some experience," he mused
presently. "Rotten hard luck, too, I'll say. Of course you never had a
suspicion of oil when you sold the outfit to old man Thorne."

Again Buck hesitated. Somehow he found this part of the affair
extraordinarily hard to put into words. But he knew that it must be done.

"I didn't sell it," he said curtly at length. "That transfer of Thorne's
was a forgery. He was a man I'd had a number of business dealings with,
and when I went to France I left all my papers in his charge. I suppose
when he saw my name on the list of missing, he thought he could take a
chance. But his daughter knew nothing whatever about it. She's white all
through and thinks the ranch is honestly hers. That's the reason why I
want you to keep quiet about this for a while. You can see how she'd feel
if this came out."

A faint, fleeting smile curved the corners of Jim Hardenberg's straight
mouth. Accustomed by his profession to think the worst of people, and to
probe deeply and callously for hidden evil motives, it amused and rather
pleased him to meet a man whose extraordinary story roused not the
faintest doubt in his critical mind.

"Some dirty business," he commented at length. "Still, it's come out all
right, and at that you're ahead of the game. That oil might have laid
there for years without your getting wise to it. Well, let's get down to
cases. It's going to take some planning to get that scoundrel Lynch, to
say nothing of the men higher up. Tell me about those fellows in the car
again."

Buck readily went over that part of his story, describing the fat man and
his driver as accurately as he was able. The sheriff's eyes narrowed
thoughtfully as he listened.

"Think you know him?" Buck asked curiously.

"I'm not sure. Description sounds a bit familiar, but descriptions are
apt to fool you. I wish you'd managed to get the number of the car."

"That would likely be a fake one," Stratton remi