McGowan, following the introductions of his assistants, went into the matter of the cyanid bullion at length. The bar was produced in evidence. “Lastly,” finished McGowan, “your pard’s actions virtually admitted his guilt.” “How so?” asked the scout. “Why, he refused to let us examine the inside of his saddle-bags, and tried to fight us off.” “So far from proving his guilt,” declared the scout, “it goes to show his innocence. Knowing he had done nothing unlawful he denied your right to question his integrity. Any man of spirit would have fought against a dishonoring search of his person or his saddle-bags.” “How did the gold get in there, then?” “Somebody put it in.” “And that somebody,” spoke up Bernritter, with a swagger, “was the Dutchman.” “Did you see my pard put the bar into his saddle-bag, Bernritter?” demanded the scout, his eyes narrowing to mere slits as he measured the superintendent. “Why, no.” “Then don’t air your ignorance. Have I heard the whole of this, McGowan?” the scout inquired, turning to the mine-owner. “Yes, you’ve got our side of it,” was the reply. “If you want to question your pard----” “I don’t,” promptly. “I know the baron too well to offer him an insult. You might dismiss your two men, McGowan,” the scout added, “and we’ll smoke a talk and see where we land.” “Go back to the Three-ply, Bern, you and Jacobs,” said McGowan, in a kindly tone. “We can’t leave the plant to run itself, you know. I’ll be along some time to-night.” Bernritter and Jacobs left the office. The scout, as soon as the door closed, started up from his chair and beckoned Nomad and Cayuse apart. “Trail those two men secretly,” he ordered, “no matter where they go. Watch every move they make.” “Ye’re goin’ ter help McGowan?” asked Nomad eagerly. “That remains to be seen. However, it will make no difference with you. Do your trailing.” “Whar’ll we report?” “You’ll find me somewhere when you’re ready to report.” “Keno.” Again the door opened and closed, this time with Nomad and Little Cayuse on the other side of it. The scout returned to his chair. “Now that your Dutch pard’s safety is concerned, Buffalo Bill,” said McGowan, “I suppose that you’ll hook-up with me and help run down those red bullion thieves?” “My pard’s safety must not enter into the question,” returned Buffalo Bill. “He’s the victim of foul play, and his liberty ought not to be imperiled for a moment.” “You bank heavy on your pards!” “I never let a man into the inner circle until I know I can bank heavy on him. I’ll admit, McGowan, that since my talk with you this morning, I am more inclined to give you my aid than I was before.” McGowan began to expand, and to congratulate himself. “Faith, it’s your strong arm we need,” said he. “It’s a hefty fist you have, Buffalo Bill, and a sharp mind back of it.” “Thanks,” said the scout dryly. “If I did not bank a little on you, McGowan, I might suspect that this was a put-up job, of which you were fully cognizant.”