Collins ripped off the silver band and tore out the sweat-pad. It was an off chance—one in a thousand—but worth trying none the less. And a moment later he knew it was the chance that won. For sewed to the inside of the discolored sweat-pad was a little strip of silk. With his knife he carefully removed the strip, and found between it and the leather a folded fragment of paper closely covered with writing. He carried this to the light, and made it out to be a memorandum of direction of some sort. Slowly he spelled out the poorly written words: From Y. N. took Unowhat. Went twenty yards strate for big rock. Eight feet direckly west. Fifty yards in direcksion of suthern Antelope Peke. Then eighteen to nerest cotonwood. J. H. begins hear. Collins read the scrawl twice before an inkling of its meaning came home to him. Then in a flash his brain was lighted. It was a memorandum of the place where Dailey’s share of the plunder was buried. His confederates had known that he had it, and had risked capture to make a thorough search for the paper. That they had not found it was due only to the fact that the murdered man had lost his hat as he scurried down the streets before them. The doctor, having arrived, examined the wound and suggested an anaesthetic. Collins laughed. “I reckon not, doc. You round up that lead pill and I’ll endure the grief without knockout drops.” While the doctor was probing for the bullet lodged in his leg, the sheriff studied the memorandum found in Dailey’s hat. He found it blind, disappointing work, for there was no clearly indicated starting-point. Bit by bit he took it: From Y. N. took Unowhat. This was clear enough, so far as it went. It could only mean that from York Neil the writer had taken the plunder to hide. But _where_ did he take it? From what point? A starting-point must be found somewhere, or the memorandum was of no use. Probably only Neil could supply the needed information, now that Dailey was dead. Went twenty yards strate for big rock. Eight feet direckly west. Fifty yards in direcksion of suthern Antelope Peke. Then eighteen to nerest cotonwood. All this was plain enough, but the last sentence was the puzzler. J. H. begins hear. Was J. H. a person? If so, what did he begin. If Dailey had buried his plunder, what had J. H. left to do? But _had_ he buried it? Collins smiled. It was not likely he had handed it over to anybody else to hide for him. And yet—