t dinner, Pablo dragged his problem down to this
grave, with the aid of the pinto pony, and hid it forever from the
sight of men. Neither directly nor indirectly was his exploit ever
referred to again and no inquiry was ever instituted to fathom the
mystery of the abrupt disappearance of Kano Ugichi. Indeed, the sole
regret at his untimely passing was borne by Pablo, who, shrinking from
the task of removing his riata from his victim (for he had a primitive
man's horror of touching the dead), was forced to bury his dearest
possession with the adventurer from La Questa--a circumstance which
served still further to strengthen his prejudice against the Japanese
race.

The following morning Pablo saddled Panchito for Kay and, at her
request, followed her, in the capacity of groom, to Bill Conway's camp
at Agua Caliente basin. The old schemer was standing in the door of
his rough temporary office when Kay rode up; he advanced to meet her.

"Well, young lady," he greeted her, "what's on your mind this morning
in addition to that sassy little hat."

"A number of things. I want to know what really happened to Mr. Farrel
yesterday forenoon."

"My dear girl! Why do you consult me?"

She leaned from her horse and lowered her voice. "Because I'm your
partner and between partners there should be no secrets."

"Well, we're supposed to keep it a secret, just to save you and your
mother from worrying, but I'll tell you in confidence if you promise
not to tell a soul I told you."

"I promise."

"Well, then, that scoundrel, Okada, sent a Jap over from La Questa
valley to assassinate Miguel and clear the way for your father to
acquire this ranch without further legal action and thus enable their
interrupted land deal to be consummated."

"My father was not a party to that--oh, Mr. Conway, surely you do not
suspect for a moment--"

"Tish! Tush! Of course not. That's why Miguel wanted it given out
that his horse had policed him. Wanted to save you the resultant
embarrassment."

"The poor dear! And this wretch from La Questa shot him?"

"Almost."

"What became of the assassin?"

Bill Conway pursed his tobacco-stained lips and whistled a few bars of
"Listen to the Mocking Bird." Subconsciously the words of the song
came to Kay's mind.

She's sleeping in the valley,
In the valley,
She's sleeping in the valley,
And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.

"I'm afraid I don't want to discuss that bo