turned to Manti with the deputies that had
accompanied him to the Bar B. He had half expected to find Trevison at the
ranchhouse, for he had watched him when he had ridden away and he seemed
to have been headed in that direction. Jealousy dwelt darkly in the big
man's heart, and he had found his reason for the suspicion there. He
thought he knew truth when he saw it, and he would have sworn that truth
shone from Rosalind Benham's eyes when she had told him that she had not
seen Trevison pass that way. He had not known that what he took for the
truth was the cleverest bit of acting the girl had ever been called upon
to do. He had decided that Trevison had swung off the Bar B trail
somewhere between Manti and the ranchhouse, and he led his deputies back
to town, content to permit his men to continue the search for Trevison,
for he was convinced that the latter's visit to the courthouse had
resulted in disappointment, for he had faith in Judge Lindman's
declaration that he had destroyed the record. He had accused himself many
times for his lack of caution in not being present when the record had
been destroyed, but regrets had become impotent and futile.

Reaching Manti, he dispersed his deputies and sought his bed in the
_Castle_. He had not been in bed more than an hour when an attendant of
the hotel called to him through the door that a man named Gieger wanted to
talk with him, below. He dressed and went down to the street, to find
Gieger and another deputy sitting on their horses in front of the hotel
with Judge Lindman, drooping from his long vigil, between them.

Corrigan grinned scornfully at the Judge.

"Clever, eh?" he sneered. He spoke softly, for the dawn was not far away,
and he knew that a voice carries resonantly at that hour.

"I don't understand you!" Judicial dignity sat sadly on the Judge; he was
tired and haggard, and his voice was a weak treble. "If you mean--"

"I'll show you what I mean." Corrigan motioned to the deputies. "Bring him
along!" Leading the way he took them through Manti's back door across a
railroad spur to a shanty beside the track which the engineer in charge of
the dam occasionally occupied when his duty compelled him to check up
arriving material and supplies. Because plans and other valuable papers
were sometimes left in the shed it was stoutly built, covered with
corrugated iron, and the windows barred with iron, prison-like. Reaching
the shed, Corrigan unlocked the door, shoved