“By glory—the deed to Alec’s mining property!” he ejaculated, as he conned the writing therein. Then, when he had finished reading, he folded up the deed, replaced it in the cigarette case, slipped the case into his pocket, and stood staring up the winding reaches of the green cañon. That property was located in this very cañon. Stunned as he was by surprise heaped on surprise, he realized this only too clearly. His brother was dead. The property in question had been bought from Sidewinder Crowfoot for whom Mesquite Harrison had acted as a blind. It lay somewhere up there toward the mesa—marked by that split pink granite boulder, perfectly described in the deed as to bounds and extent. It was this identical cañon for which he had come searching so blindly. Had he gone on around the next bend, he would have found the boulder with its piñon trees. Tompkins sank down and took his head between his hands, striving hard for sanity. His first impulses were not sane at all; they were murderous. His brain was seething in tumult. He was not red-headed for nothing. By slow degrees his thoughts settled down into grim coherence. Now he knew what he had long ago presumed to be the case—that his brother was dead. But here in his pocket was evidence as to who was responsible. There was no direct evidence against Sidewinder Crowfoot, but Tompkins brushed this impatiently aside; he was perfectly convinced that Crowfoot was the man behind everything going on here. “At the same time, I’ve got to be sane—got to be!” he thought desperately, fighting for self-control. “I can’t go off half-cocked. They’ve got brains. They’ll get me if I let out a peep. Nothing but my own brains will save me now, and if I don’t go slow, I’m a goner sure! This changes my whole program. Now I know everything—and it’s up to me to get busy. First thing to do is to get back to town and get this deed recorded—send it in by registered mail. The stage goes out in the morning, so any time will do for that. Chuckwalla City is the county seat; might run over there in the flivver, only I’d better see Sidewinder Crowfoot, get my money, and sever connections. And I’ll want a rifle, before I go up against that crowd in Hourglass Cañon, wherever it is. Then—” He was abruptly startled from his reflections by an eager hail, and looked up to see Miss Gilman approaching, with Hassayamp trailing behind her. He had forgotten the girl, and now an exclamation of dismay broke from him. Then he rose, donning glasses and helmet again, and nervously lighted up his pipe. “We didn’t see you till we were almost on top of you,” exclaimed Miss Gilman. “Were you asleep? What makes your face look so white?” “A touch o’ sun, madam. No, I was not asleep. I was watching the peregrinations of yonder pack-rat. Not so fast, Mr. Foster—there is a large _crotalus cerastes_ just by your left foot.” “A which?” demanded Hassayamp, by no means pleased to see the professor.