“You’re wondering,” spoke up the scout, “whether Nate Dunbar had anything to do with what happened to Jake Phelps. Well, stop your wondering. He didn’t.” “But the’ was bad blood between ’em, wasn’t they?” went on the cowboy, wrinkling his brows. “When they separated didn’t they both say they’d git even with each other? An’ didn’t Dunbar hit the trail right arter Jake did?” “All that happened, yes. But that doesn’t prove anything against Nate. I’m rather thinking that it makes the future dark for Red Steve.” Old Nomad jumped at that; and Quiller, the match going out without lighting his cigarette, flung away the burnt firestick and groped in his pocket for another. “What about Red Steve?” demanded Quiller. “He’s loose in the Brazos country,” answered the scout. “Benner was going to bring him to Hackamore for the shooting of Ace Hawkins, but Red Steve slipped away from the Circle-B ranch on foot.” “On foot, hey? Then why didn’t Red Steve, if he done this, take Jake’s hoss? Red Steve wouldn’t never hev let the hoss git away from him arter he had nabbed the money.” “Perhaps Red Steve had a horse already,” suggested the scout. “It’s possible he picked up a horse without any gear, and that he took the saddle to ride in.” “It’s possible, I reckon.” But it was plain that Quiller’s mind was running on Nate Dunbar. Circumstances seemed to point more decisively in the direction of the Star-A rancher than toward Red Steve. “The man who took the money,” pursued the scout, noting the trend of the cowboy’s thoughts, “was the man who look the saddle. Nate Dunbar’s not a thief.” “It’s hard ter tell what a man is when he makes a play o’ this kind.” “And certainly Nate wouldn’t take the saddle. Why should he? He had a good saddle of his own.” This fact seemed to make some impression on Quiller. Before he could express himself, however, the doctor came riding up in front. With the doctor was Bloom and Sim Pierce, both ready for the trail. “Come on, you there!” roared Bloom. Quiller ran out, tightened his cinches, swung into the saddle, and the four riders fared out of town at a gallop. “See how it is, Nick?” queried the scout. “Already suspicion is leveled at Nate Dunbar. You can gamble that Bloom will do everything possible to make it bad for the boy. I reckon we had also better be getting saddle leather between our knees.” “Ter go whar, Buffler?” “Why, to the H-P ranch. I want to watch this thing and find out just what develops. We must keep in touch with every detail. It’s liable to mean a whole lot for Nate.” “Waugh! Ye’re shore right thar. But et’s Red Steve as turned ther trick, ye kin take et from me. When’ll we ride?” “Now.” “Whoop! When ye tune up like thet, ye shore ketch me plumb whar I live. Spurs an’ quirts an’ a call on Hank Phelps. This hyar peace bizness is gittin’ some excitin’.”