“The two fellers was so masked,” said Brown, “that I couldn’t tell if they was black, white, or red. The surprise was so complete, anyway, that maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. We wasn’t expectin’ trouble--leastways, I wasn’t; for I allowed the agents would be fooled complete, and would tackle the stage, if they done anything. Then, fu’st thing I knew, there was them masked devils whanging away at us with repeating rifles. Austin was killed; and I got this hole in my side. Your Dutch pard was gamy, and clipped one of the agents. I could swear to that; because, as I drapped, I heard the feller rip out a cuss word, and saw him reel back. But he didn’t fall; so, p’raps the wound didn’t amount to much. One of ’em tried to down the Dutchman; but he got away. That’s about all; except that we lost everything. They even took my hardware and Austin’s, with our cartridge belts. Then they drove the burros away. I had my nose ag’inst the yearth, playin’ dead fer all I was wu’th at that time, so I didn’t see ’em go, but I heard ’em. About the next thing I knew, your friend was bendin’ over me. I got purty weak, and I reckon I had fainted. And that’s all.” “Did you see what sort of men they were, as to size?” the scout asked. “You might have done that when they were getting your weapons.” “I was too busy playin’ dead jest then to notice clost,” Brown admitted. “But I did see that one was tall and t’other seemed medium size. It was the small one that was wounded.” “Did you notice their voices?” “Not in p’tickler.” “You were at Juniper Joe’s wedding?” “Well, I reckon.” “Then you probably saw the man Juniper Joe shot at?” “I did.” “Joe claimed the man was Tim Benson, the road agent.” “I ain’t fergittin’ that, neither.” “Try to recall if one of the road agents resembled that man in any way.” Brown pondered over this. “Well, the littlest one might have been him,” he said; “I should say he was about that size.” “Some one on the inside must have informed the agents that you and Austin were going over the mountains with the treasure bags,” said the scout. “You couldn’t give a guess as to who that could be?” “I’ve been thinkin’ about that,” Brown confessed. “No, I can’t say who it could have been. My best guess is, that if that little man was Benson he hung round somewhere and overheard the talk when the thing was planned.” “It’s a good guess.” In Brown’s wounded and feverish condition the scout had talked long enough; and he took his departure. “A water haul,” he told himself. “But Brown’s guess that the man called Benson may have got onto the thing by eavesdropping may be the right one. I think I should like, right now, to meet Jackson Dane, detective.” He met him, on his return to his hotel; Dane was by the door of his room, awaiting his appearance. “Hello!” said the little man, cheerily. “I’ve been waiting to have a talk with you confidential.” “I’m agreeable to that,” said the scout.