?"

"Bet you a week's salary that if we go out to the stables we find one
of the horses still wet with sweat from a long run."

"Go you once," retorted Threewit promptly. "Wait just a jiffy till I get
more clothes on."

Steve's prediction was verified. White Stockings, one of the fastest
mounts in the remuda of the company, had been brought in from a long
hard run within the past half-hour. Its flanks were stained with sweat
and the marks of the saddle chafed its still moist back.

"You win," admitted Threewit. "But that doesn't prove Harrison was on
its back."

"No. Say, what about giving me a week off, Mr. Threewit?"

"What for?"

"I've just taken a notion to travel some. Mebbe I might run acrost those
cattle that strayed back to Yarnell's whilst I was sleeping."

The director looked at him sharply. "All right. Go to it, son."

CHAPTER VI

PLUCKING A PIGEON

Steve slept almost around the clock. He lost breakfast, but was there
promptly for luncheon with the appetite of a harvest hand. During the
two days' drive he had missed the good home cooking of Mrs. Seymour and
he intended to make up for it.

Orman and Shorty had reached town some time about daylight and had
spread the story of the holdup, so that the dining-room was humming with
excitement. A dozen questions were flung at Steve before he had well
taken his seat. He threw up his hands in surrender.

Before he had finished telling his edited story, Shorty drifted in and
divided the interest. The little extra promptly took the stage away from
Yeager, whereupon Daisy Ellington absorbed the attention of Steve. She
asked a sharp question or two which he answered blandly. It was not his
intention to communicate any suspicions he happened to have.

They were waiting for the dessert. Daisy put her lean, pretty elbows on
the table and her chin in her little doubled fists. A provocative
audacity was in the tilted smile she flashed at him.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Breeze on, Steve. You're doin' fine. Next scene."

"That's all."

"Say, do I look like I was born yesterday? See any green in my eye,
Cactus Center?"

He grinned. "You're sure wise, compadre. But the rest is mostly
suspicions."

"I'm listening," she nodded.

"You're such a Sherlock Holmes I'd hate to go out with the boys if I was
married to you."

"I'm your friend and wouldn't wish any such bad luck on you," she
countered gayly. Then, in a lower voice, with a sudden gravity