minute or two. "Well,
he's gone, and I don't know that I'm sorry there wasn't a circus here,"
he said. "I figured there was something not square about that fellow
any way. Registered as Guyler from Minnesota, but I've seen somebody
like him among the boys from Silverdale. Guess I'll find out when I
ride over about the horse, and then I'll have a talk with him quietly."

In the meanwhile, the police trooper who had handed him the packet
returned to the outpost, and, as it happened, found the grizzled
Sergeant Stimson, who appeared astonished to see him back so soon,
there.

"I met Courthorne near his homestead, and gave him the papers, sir," he
said.

"You did?" said the Sergeant. "Now that's kind of curious, because
he's at the bridge."

"It couldn't have been anybody else, because he took the documents and
signed for them," said the trooper.

"Big bay horse?"

"No, sir," said the trooper. "It was a bronco, and a screw at that."

"Well," said Stimson dryly, "let me have your book. If Payne has come
in, tell him I want him."

The trooper went out, and when his comrade came in, Stimson laid a
strip of paper before him. "You have seen Courthorne's writing," he
said: "would you call it anything like that?"

"No, sir," said Trooper Payne. "I would not!"

Stimson nodded. "Take a good horse, and ride round by the bridge. If
you find Courthorne there, as you probably will, head for the
settlement and see if you can come across a man who might pass for him.
Ask your questions as though the answer didn't count, and tell nobody
what you hear but me."

Payne rode out, and when he returned three days later, Sergeant Stimson
made a journey to confer with one of his superiors. The officer was a
man who had risen in the service somewhat rapidly, and when he heard
the tale, said nothing while he turned over a bundle of papers a
trooper brought him. Then he glanced at Stimson thoughtfully.

"I have a report of the Shannon shooting case here," he said. "How did
it strike you at the time?"

Stimson's answer was guarded. "As a curious affair. You see, it was
quite easy to get at Winston's character from anybody down there, and
he wasn't the kind of man to do the thing. There were one or two other
trifles I couldn't quite figure out the meaning of."

"Winston was drowned?" said the officer.

"Well," said Stimson, "the trooper who rode after him heard him break
through the ice, but nobody ever found him,