ering Smith for two days seemed to do nothing. Yet instinct
keener than silence kept the people of Medicine Bend on edge during
those two days, and when President Bucks's car came in on the evening
of the second day, the town knew from current rumors that Banks had
gone to the Frenchman ranch with a warrant on a serious charge for
Sinclair. In the president's car Bucks and McCloud, after a late
dinner, were joined by Whispering Smith, and the president heard the
first connected story of the events of the fortnight that had passed.
Bucks made no comment until he had heard everything. "And they rode
Sinclair's horses," he said in conclusion.

"Sinclair's horses," returned Whispering Smith, "and they are all
accounted for. One horse supplied by Rebstock was shot where they
crossed Stampede Creek. It had given out and they had a fresh horse
in the willows, for they shot the scrub half a mile up one of the
canyons near the crossing. The magpies attracted my attention to it. A
piece of skin a foot square had been cut out of the flank."

"You got there before the birds."

"It was about an even thing," said Smith. "Anyway, we were there in
time to see the horse."

"And Sinclair was away from the ranch from Saturday noon till Sunday
night?"

"A rancher living over on Stampede Creek saw the five men when they
crossed Saturday afternoon. The fellow was scared and lied to me about
it, but he told Wickwire who they were."

"Now, who is Wickwire?" asked Bucks.

"You ought to remember Wickwire, George," remarked Whispering Smith,
turning to McCloud. "You haven't forgotten the Smoky Creek wreck? Do
you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all
morning? You put him in your car and sent him down here to the
railroad hospital and Barnhardt took care of him. That was Wickwire.
Not a bad fellow, either; he can talk pretty straight and shoot pretty
straight. How do I know? Because he has told me the story and I've
seen him shoot. There, you see, is one friend that you never reckoned
on. He used to be a cowboy, and I got him a job working for Sinclair
on the Frenchman; he has worked at Dunning's and other places on the
Crawling Stone. He hates Sinclair with a deadly hatred for some
reason. Just lately Wickwire set up for himself on Little Crawling
Stone."

"I have noticed that fellow's ranch," remarked McCloud.

"I couldn't leave him at Sinclair's," continued Whispering Smith
frankly. "The fellow was on my