“What about Ben Todd? I heard he was murdered,” he remarked. Henry nodded thoughtfully. “That is true, Mr. Greer. You see, he left his entire estate to Violet La Verne.” “Yea-a-a-ah?” whispered the gambler. “That’s fine. I heard that she grub-staked him.” “It mentioned that in the will.” “It did, eh? Well, he had plenty of raw gold, and he said there was plenty more where that came from.” “It must have been rich,” said Henry, “if all the tales are true. He had only a few nuggets left, and no money.” “That grub-stake was a lucky hunch for Violet,” said Greer. “That’s what she thought,” said Henry. “What do you mean, Sheriff--thought?” “Yuh see, Mr. Greer,” explained Henry carefully, “Ben Todd forgot to record his claim. There isn’t even a location notice to prove that he ever located a gold claim.” The gambler looked keenly at Henry. “You mean--he never put his claim on record at all; that nobody knows where it is located?” “That seems to be a fact, sir. Unless Ben Todd imparted the knowledge verbally to someone--the secret died with him. That man with the shotgun was premature.” “It would seem so,” agreed Greer. * * * * * Henry was crossing the street to his office, when he saw two men just entering the place. Henry groaned quietly. One of the men was Thomas Akers, merchant of Scorpion Bend, and a member of the Board of Commissioners, while the other was James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly, editor of the Scorpion Bend _Clarion_, and the pet obsession of the sheriff’s office. Judge and Oscar were both in the office. Henry came up to the doorway as quietly as possible, and heard Judge say: “We are not allowed to announce the name of the murderer of Ben Todd, until Sheriff Conroy gives his permission, sir.” “You mean--you--er--know?” asked Pelly in a whisper. “Ay know von t’ing--” rumbled Oscar’s voice, and the creak of a chair indicated that the giant Swede was getting up. Henry had started to enter the office, when a flying Pelly hit him squarely in the middle. Pelly was more or less of a lightweight, but with a distinct muzzle-velocity. He caromed off the bosom of Henry Harrison Conroy, landed on the seat of his pants, from where he turned over twice and sprawled flat on his back in the dusty street. Henry was knocked speechless for the moment. Thomas Akers came out swiftly, skidded a heel on the threshold, and came down to a sitting position with rather a dull thud. It knocked his hat down over his eyes, and he just sat there, wheezing audibly. It was all rather embarrassing. Judge and Oscar came to the doorway. Judge had tears in his eyes, but they were not from sympathy. “All Ay done vars get up,” declared Oscar stolidly. James Wadsworth Longfellow Pelly sat up in the dust, looking dazedly around, until his eyes centered on Thomas Akers. Then he said accusingly, “I told you it wouldn’t do any good.”