is more than
possible. In either case he acquitted the slayer of blame. In his pocket
was a letter from the sheriff at Nemo, Arkansas, stating that his county
was well rid of Shep Boone and that the universal opinion was that neither
Bellamy nor young Yarnell had been to blame for the outcome of the
difficulty. Unless there came to him an active demand for the return of
Bellamy he intended to let sleeping dogs lie.

No such demand came. Within a month the mystery was cleared. The renter
Munro delivered himself to the sheriff at Nemo, admitting that he had
killed Shep Boone in self defence. The dead man had been drinking and was
exceedingly quarrelsome. He had abused his tenant and at last drawn on
him. Whereupon Munro had shot him down. At first afraid of what might
happen to him, he had stood aside and let the blame be shouldered upon
young Yarnell. But later his conscience had forced him to a confession. It
is enough here to say that he was later tried and acquitted, thus closing
the chapter of the wastrel's tragic death.

The day after the news of Munro's confession reached Arizona Richard
Bellamy called upon Flatray to invite him to his wedding. As soon as his
name was clear he had asked Ferne Yarnell to marry him.

PART II

DEAD MAN'S CACHE

CHAPTER I

KIDNAPPED

As a lake ripples beneath a summer breeze, so Mesa was stirred from its
usual languor by the visit of Simon West. For the little Arizona town was
dreaming dreams. Its imagination had been aroused; and it saw itself no
longer a sleepy cow camp in the unfeatured desert, but a metropolis, in
touch with twentieth-century life.

The great Simon West, pirate of finance, empire builder, molder of the
destinies of the mighty Southwestern Pacific system, was to touch the
adobe village with his transforming wand and make of it a hive of
industry. Rumors flew thick and fast.

Mesa was to be the junction for the new spur that would run to the big
Lincoln dam. The town would be a division point; the machine shops of the
system would be located there. Its future, if still a trifle vague, was
potentially immense. Thus, with cheerful optimism, did local opinion
interpret the visit of the great man.

Whatever Simon West may have thought of Mesa and its prospects, he kept
behind his thin, close-shut lips. He was a dry, gray little man of
fifty-five, with sharp, twinkling eyes that saw everything and told
nothing. Certainly he wore none of the visi