nch grass and prickly pear, with his hands and feet tied
to them tent-stakes, and pony tracks and moccasin tracks all mixed
around in the dust jest as if a hull tribe had been millin' here. If a
lot of Injuns don't swing for this, then there's no use of callin' this
a white man's country any more."

The flames of resentment needed no fanning, as Lowell found. The agent
had not concluded his work with the sheriff at White Lodge before he
heard thinly veiled threats directed at all Indians and their friends.
He paid no attention to the comments, but drove back to the agency,
successfully masking the grave concern he felt. In the evening, his
chief clerk, Ed Rogers, found Lowell reading a magazine.

"The talk is that you'll have to get Fire Bear for this murder," said
Rogers. Then the chief clerk added, bluntly: "I thought sure you'd be
working on this case."

Lowell smiled at the clerk's astonishment.

"There's nothing more that requires my attention just now," he said. "If
Fire Bear is wanted, we can always get him. That's one thing that
simplifies all such matters, where Indians are concerned. An Indian
can't lose himself in a crowd, like a white man. Furthermore, he never
thinks of leaving the reservation."

Here the young agent rose and yawned.

"Anyway," he remarked, "it isn't our move right now. Until it is, I
prefer to think of pleasanter things."

But the agent's thoughts were not on any of the pleasant things
contained in the magazine he had flung into a corner. They were dwelling
most consistently upon a pleasing journey he had enjoyed, a few days
before, with a young woman whom he had taken from the agency to Mystery
Ranch.

CHAPTER II

Helen Ervin's life in a private school for girls at San Francisco had
been uneventful until her graduation. She had been in the school for ten
years. Before that, she had vague recollections of a school that was not
so well conducted. In fact, almost her entire recollection was of
teachers, school chums, and women who had been hired as companions and
tutors. Some one had paid much money for her upbringing--that much Helen
Ervin knew. The mystery of her caretaking was known, of course, by Miss
Scovill, head of the Scovill School, but it had never been disclosed. It
had become such an ancient mystery that Helen told herself she had lost
all interest in it. Miss Scovill was kind and motherly, and would answer
any other questions. She had taken personal charge of