The man who committed the crime might be
punished,--if public opinion were sufficiently massed against him. In
that case Senator Warfield would cry loudest for justice. But it would
take a stronger man than the country held to raise the question of Fred
Thurman's death and take even the first steps toward proving it a
murder.

"It ain't that they can do anything, Mr Warfield," the man from Whisper
said guardedly, urging his horse close to the machine that stood in the
trail from Echo. It was broad day--a sun-scorched day to boot--and
Senator Warfield perspired behind the wheel of his car. "It's the talk
they may get started."

"What have they said? The girl was at the ranch for several days. She
didn't talk there, or Hawkins would have told me."

"She was sick. I saw her the other day at the Quirt, and she more'n
half recognised me. Hell! How'd _I_ know she was in there among them
rocks? Everybody that was apt to be riding through was accounted for,
and I knew there wasn't any one coming horseback or with a rig. My
hearing's pretty good."

Warfield moved the spark lever up and down on the wheel while he
thought. "Well," he said carefully at last, "if you're falling down in
your work, what are you whining about it to me for? What do you want?"

Al moistened his lips with his tongue. "I want to know how far I can
go. It's been hands off the Quirt, up to now. And the Quirt's
beginning to think it can get away with most anything. They've throwed
a fence across the pass through from Sugar Spring to Whisper. That
sends us away around by Three Creek. You can't trail stock across
Granite Ridge, nor them lava ledges. If it's going to be hands off, I
want to know it. There's other places I'd rather live in, if the
Quirt's going to raise talk about Fred Thurman."

Senator Warfield pulled at his collar and tie as if they choked him.
"The Quirt has made no trouble," he said. "Of course, if they begin
throwing fences across our stock trails and peddling gossip, that is
another story. I expect you to protect our interests, of course. And
I have never made a practice of dictating to you. In this case"--he
sent a sharp glance at Al--"it seems to me your interests are involved
more than ours. As to Fred Thurman, I don't know anything about it. I
was not here when he died, and I have never seen this girl of Brit's
who seems to worry you. She doesn't interest me, one way or the other."

"She seems to int