"Oh, Em he'll be able to explain that all right," decided Steve cheerfully. "Where is Crawford now?" asked Dave. "He hasn't been arrested, has he?" "Not yet. But he's bein' watched. Soon as he showed up at the bank the sheriff asked to look at his six-shooter. Two cartridges had been fired. One of the passengers on the stage told me two shots was fired from a six-gun by the boss hold-up. The second one killed old Tim Harrigan." "Did they accuse Crawford of the killing?" "Not directly. He was asked to explain. I ain't heard what his story was." "We'd better go to his house and talk with him," suggested Hart. "Maybe he can give as good an alibi as you, Dave." "You and I will go straight there," decided Sanders. "Steve, get three saddle horses. We'll ride out to the Bend and see what we can learn on the ground." "I'll cash my chips, get the broncs, and meet you lads at Crawford's," said Russell promptly. CHAPTER XXII NUMBER THREE COMES IN Joyce opened the door to the knock of the young men. At sight of them her face lit. "Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she cried, tears in her voice. She caught her hands together in a convulsive little gesture. "Isn't it dreadful? I've been afraid all the time that something awful would happen--and now it has." "Don't you worry, Miss Joyce," Bob told her cheerfully. "We ain't gonna let anything happen to yore paw. We aim to get busy right away and run this thing down. Looks like a frame-up. If it is, you betcha we'll get at the truth." "Will you? Can you?" She turned to Dave in appeal, eyes starlike in a face that was a white and shining oval in the semi-darkness. "We'll try," he said simply. Something in the way he said it, in the quiet reticence of his promise, sent courage flowing to her heart. She had called on him once before, and he had answered splendidly and recklessly. "Where's Mr. Crawford?" asked Bob. "He's in the sitting-room. Come right in." Her father was sitting in a big chair, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm. He was smoking a cigar composedly. "Come in, boys," he called. "Reckon you've heard that I'm a stage rustler and a murderer." Joyce cried out at this, the wide, mobile mouth trembling. "Just now. At the Gusher," said Bob. "They didn't arrest you?" "Not yet. They're watchin' the house. Sit down, and I'll tell it to you." He had gone out to see a homesteader about doing some work for him. On the way he had met Johnson and Purdy near the Bend, just before he had turned up a draw leading to the place in the hills owned by the man whom he wanted to see. Two hours had been spent riding to the little valley where the nester had built his corrals and his log house, and when Crawford arrived neither he nor his wife was at home. He returned to the road, without having met a soul since he had left it, and from there jogged on back to town. On the way he had fired twice at a rattlesnake. "You never reached the Bend, then, at all," said Dave.