Warfield was stepping on the starter. But it would not have
mattered greatly if he had heard, for this was a point quite thoroughly
understood by them both.

The Warfield car went on, lurching over the inequalities of the narrow
road. Al shook his horse into a shambling trot, picking his way
carelessly through the scattered sage.

His horse traveled easily, now and then lifting a foot high to avoid
rock or exposed root, or swerving sharply around obstacles too high to
step over. Al very seldom traveled along the beaten trails, though there
was nothing to deter him now save an inherent tendency toward
secretiveness of his motives, destinations and whereabouts. If the
country was open, you would see Al Woodruff riding at some distance from
the trail--or you would not see him at all, if there were gullies in
which he could conceal himself. He was always "line-riding," or hunting
stray stock--horses, usually--or striking across to some line-camp of
the Sawtooth, on business which he was perfectly willing to state.

But you will long ago have guessed that he was the evil eye of the
Sawtooth Company. He took no orders save such general ones as Senator
Warfield had just given him. He gave none. Whatever he did he did alone,
and he took no man into his confidence. It is more than probable that
Senator Warfield would never have known to a certainty that Al was
responsible for Thurman's death, if Al had not been worried over the
Quirt's possible knowledge of the crime and anxious to know just how far
his power might go.

Ostensibly he was in charge of the camp at Whisper, a place far enough
off the beaten trails to free him from chance visitors. The Sawtooth
kept many such camps occupied by men whose duty it was to look after the
Sawtooth cattle that grazed near; to see that stock did not "bog down"
in the tricky sand of the adjacent water holes and die before help came,
and to fend off any encroachments of the smaller cattle owners,--though
these were growing fewer year by year, thanks to the weeding-out policy
of the Sawtooth and the cunning activities of such as Al Woodruff.

It may sound strange to say that the Sawtooth country had not had a real
"killing" for years, though accidental deaths had been rather frequent.
One man, for instance, had fallen over a ledge and broken his neck,
presumably while drunk. Another had bought a few sticks of dynamite to
open up a spring on his ranch, and at the inquest which followed the