certain tragedy. I am sending this by Wong, as I am watched
closely, though he pretends to be looking out only for my welfare.
I can escape in some way. I am not afraid--only for you. Again I
plead with you not to come. You will be going into a deathtrap.

HELEN

Wong, the factotum from the Greek Letter Ranch, had brought the letter
and had duly stamped it and dropped it in the box for outgoing mail,
three days before the murder on the Dollar Sign road. Wong had all the
appearance of a man frightened and in a hurry. Talpers sought to detain
him, but the Chinese hurried back to his old white horse and climbed
clumsily into the saddle.

"It's a long time sence I've seen that old white hoss with the big
pitchfork brand on his shoulder," said Talpers. "You ain't ridin' up
here for supplies as often as you used to, Wong. Must be gettin' all
your stuff by mail-order route. Well, I ain't sore about it, so wait
awhile and have a little smoke and talk."

But Wong had shaken his head and departed as rapidly in the direction of
the ranch as his limited riding ability would permit.

The letter that Wong had mailed had not gone to its addressed
destination. Talpers had opened it and read it, out of idle curiosity,
intending to seal the flap again and remail it if it proved to be
nothing out of the ordinary. But there were hints of interesting things
in the letter, and Bill kept it a day or so for re-reading. Then he kept
it for another day because he had stuck it in his pocket and all but
forgotten about it. Afterward came the murder, with the name of Sargent
figuring, and Bill kept the letter for various reasons, one of which was
that he did not know what else to do with it.

"It's too late for that feller to git it now, any ways," was Bill's
comfortable philosophy. "And if I'd go and mail it now, some fool
inspector might make it cost me my job as postmaster. Besides, it may
come useful in my business--who knows?"

The usefulness of the letter, from Bill's standpoint, began to be
apparent the day after the murder, when Helen Ervin rode up to the store
on the white horse which Wong had graced. The girl rode well. She was
hatless and dressed in a neat riding-suit--the conventional attire of
her classmates who had gone in for riding-lessons. Her riding-clothes
were the first thing she had packed, on leaving San Francisco, as the
very word "ranch" had suggested delightful excursions in the saddle.

T