ent started his motor and glided
away.

Bill's ugly scowl did not fade as he stalked into his store. Lowell's
last shot about the bootlegging had gone home. Talpers had had more
opposition from Lowell than from any other Indian agent since the trader
had established his store on the reservation line. In fact the young
agent had made whiskey-dealing so dangerous that Talpers was getting
worried. Lowell had brought the Indian police to a state of efficiency
never before obtained. Bootlegging had become correspondingly difficult.
Jim McFann had complained several times about being too close to
capture. Now he was arrested on another charge, and, as Lowell had said,
Talpers's most profitable line of business was certain to suffer. As
Bill walked back to his store he wondered how much Lowell actually knew,
and how much had been shrewd guesswork. The young agent had a certain
inscrutable air about him, for all his youth, which was most disturbing.

Talpers had not dared come out too openly for McFann's release. He
offered bail bonds, which were refused. He had managed to get a few
minutes' talk with McFann, but Redmond insisted on being present, and
all the trader could do was to assure the half-breed that everything
possible would be done to secure his release.

Bill's disturbed condition of mind vanished only when he reached into
his pocket and drew out the letter which indicated that the girl at
Mystery Ranch knew something about the tragedy which was setting not
only the county but the whole State aflame. Here was a trump card which
might be played in several different ways. The thing to do was to hold
it, and to keep his counsel until the right time came. He thanked the
good fortune that had put him in possession of the postmastership--an
office which few men were shrewd enough to use to their own good
advantage! Any common postmaster, who couldn't use his brains, would
have let that letter go right through, but that wasn't Bill Talpers's
way! He read the letter over again, slowly, as he had done a dozen times
before. Written in a pretty hand it was--handwriting befitting a dum
fine-lookin' girl like that! Bill's features softened into something
resembling a smile. He put the letter back in his pocket, and his
expression was almost beatific as he turned to wait on an Indian woman
who had come in search of a new shawl.

Talpers's attitude, which had been at once cynical and mysterious, was
the cause of some speculatio