them
off."

"How are we to prove that? They might have been going anywhere. Why
man!--that pair could pretty nearly nail us for unprovoked assault."

Phil laughed.

"And they were the men who were conducting the entire steal when I
fell in among them in the cellar;--but I can't prove it."

"You're sure they were, Jim?"

"Of course I'm sure. Red hit me on the head with the butt-end of his
quirt. I'll get him one for it too, before I'm done."

"And they engineered the whole affair, set the teamsters on their
journey, then beat it ahead for Redmans?"

"'Oh noble judge! O excellent young man,'" Jim quoted sarcastically.

Phil felt the thrust. He went over to the bed, tilted up Jim's chin
with his forefinger and looked straight into his mischievous eyes.

"Seeing you know so much, Jim Langford,--tell me more. What side is
Brenchfield on in this affair?"

Jim grew serious all of a sudden.

"Now you're talking!" he exclaimed, his eyes snapping angrily and his
voice throwing fire. "I've had no darned use for that son-of-a-gun for
some considerable time. He has his nose in everything. He pretty
nearly bosses the whole Valley. He's political boss, Mayor, rancher,
and God knows what else. If he isn't crooked, why does he have his
biggest ranch right in the thick of that Indian settlement? He has the
whole of the breeds on the reservation under his thumb. He's a party
heeler, a grafter from away back, and everybody falls for him. And
yet,--good Land!--if you did so much as open your mouth against him,
you'd get run out of town."

"Go on! Go on!" applauded Phil. "I like to hear you."

"Yes!--and _you've_ got the biggest grudge against him of any for
something or other, or I'm not Wayward Langford. But you're so darned
tight about it."

Phil's applause ended abruptly.

"Thought that would stop you!" grinned Jim. "But that man, and the
blindness of the so-called wise men of this wee burg make me
positively sick in the stomach.

"Who's at the back of the whole feed steal?--Brenchfield! Half-breeds
didn't make that tunnel. It is a white man's job all through. It
was all nicely done. Oh, ay! A tunnel to the three warehouses,
Brenchfield's included! Thieving right and left and Brenchfield
always losing a bit--to himself--every time; just to keep up
appearances; and getting richer and richer every theft until he
owns about as much land and gear as Royce Pederstone does!"

"Well then, Jim;--why can't that fertile bra