Big Hobe had always found a bucketful of cold water a most excellent antidote for these symptoms; but Johnny was suffering from more than just too much sleep. He had closed his eyes convinced that he could put his hand on the guilty man. His deductions had been honest, sensible. Old man Kent was as guilty! Subconsciously, doubt had crept into his mind. Jackson Kent had become such a meek, painfully righteous person these last few years that he seemed to lack the spinal stiffening a killer must possess. If he had been accused of taking nickels out of the collection box, one might have believed it of him; but murder? No! You’d have to have the reason for the crime, the whole, inside story of it before you could go out and expect men to believe you. Jackson Kent was a rich man, a figure of some importance in Shoshone County politics. “Yes, we grant all that,” whispered perverse little fiends in Johnny’s ear, “but isn’t it men like Kent who, free from popular suspicion, commit crimes of this sort? Wasn’t his position in the county, his very respectability his best safeguard?” Wild-eyed, Johnny sat up suddenly, his red head shaking doggedly. He looked about the room as if searching for the little devils that had romped through his sleep. A grunt and an indulgent smile followed as he threw back the covers. “I’m sufferin’ from that psychic stuff,” he muttered. “Or is it food I need?” His watch in his hands, he went to the door and called down to Vin: “Hey, Vin! Give me food or give me death! I’ll be there _muy pronto, muchachito_.” Vinnie had a steaming breakfast on the table when Johnny entered the dining room. “By Chris’, Johnny, you sleep lak’ meel-li-on-aire. How you theenk I run theese bus’ness, breakfuss h’eight o’clock?” “Aw, go on, you old dude!” Johnny laughed. “I’ll be borrowin’ money from you before I git through.” It was only talk on Johnny’s part, but the Basque chose to take it seriously. “That’s all right wit’ me, Johnny.” Vin shook his head solemnly. “I don’ refuse you, Johnny.” “Oh, how sweet those words, ‘I will lend you,’” Johnny said airily. “But not yet you won’t, _señor_. Little Johnny has plenty _dinero_. Is the old man gone?” “_Sí!_ Hobe and heem go half past five. Leetle while ago the old man come back alone an’ tak’ the train for Winnemucca.” “Winnemucca?” Johnny Dice’s eyebrows lifted. Was Kent running away? Hobe entered then to square the Diamond-Bar debt with the hotel. The barroom was deserted, and the foreman, peeking into the dining room, saw Johnny and Vin. He came in and settled himself in a chair opposite the former. “Go and figure up yore bill, Vinnie,” he said to the Basque. When Vin had left, Hobe turned his inquisitive eyes to Johnny. “Last night was a terrible bust round here, wa’n’t it?” “It’s all jake with me, Hobe. Don’t you fret.”