A proof of the perturbed state of his mind was that he accepted the proffered fresh cigar of Waters without comment or thanks. His mental troubles made him crisp to the point of rudeness. "I'm a tolerable busy man, Mr.--Waters, I think they said your name was. Tell me what you want, and make it short, if you don't mind." "Not a bit, sir. I rarely waste many words. But I think on this occasion we have a subject in common that will interest you." Waters had come on what he felt was more or less of a wild-goose chase. The great object was to keep young Hollis from coming in contact with Elizabeth Cornish again. One such interview, as Vance Cornish had assured him, would restore the boy to the ranch, make him the heir to the estate, and turn Vance and his high ambitions out of doors. Also, the high commission of Mr. Waters would cease. With no plan in mind, he had rushed to the point of contact, and hoped to find some scheme after he arrived there. As for Vance, the latter would promise money; otherwise he was a shaken wreck of a man and of no use. But with money, Mr. Waters felt that he had the key to this world and he was not without hope. Three hours in the hotel of the town gave him many clues. Three hours of casual gossip on the veranda of the same hotel had placed him in possession of about every fact, true or presumably true, that could be learned, and with the knowledge a plan sprang into his fertile brain. The worn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; he felt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bear fruit. "And that thing we got in common?" said the sheriff tersely. "It's this--young Terry Hollis." He let that shot go home without a follow-up and was pleased to see the sheriff's forehead wrinkle with pain. "He's like a ghost hauntin' me," declared McGuire, with an attempted laugh that failed flatly. "Every time I turn around, somebody throws this Hollis in my face. What is it now?" "Do you mind if I run over the situation briefly, as I understand it?" "Fire away!" The sheriff settled back; he had forgotten his rush of business. "As I understand it, you, Mr. McGuire, have the reputation of keeping your county clean of crime and scenes of violence." "Huh!" grunted the sheriff. "Everyone says," went on Waters, "that no one except a man named Minter has done such work in meeting the criminal element on their own ground. You have kept your county peaceful. I believe that is true?" "Huh," repeated McGuire. "Kind of soft-soapy, but it ain't all wrong. They ain't been much doing in these parts since I started to clean things up." "Until recently," suggested Waters. The face of the sheriff darkened. "Well?" he asked aggressively. "And then two crimes in a row. First, a gun brawl in broad daylight-- young Hollis shot a fellow named--er--" "Larrimer," snapped the sheriff viciously. "It was a square fight. Larrimer forced the scrap."