Ferris, far shrewder than he looked, had caught the signs of the anxiety which possessed Johnny. “Say, Johnny,” he inquired, “just what is it that y’u ain’t sayin’?” Johnny winced at this directness, but he answered with a question seemingly irrelevant to it. “Did you touch that dead man last night, Hobe?” Ferris cocked his head. “Of course,” he said. “Wasn’t the body warm?” “Sure was. The man hadn’t been dead over thirty minutes.” “That’s the way I figured it.” If the man had been dead only half an hour and Hobe had been watching the old man during that very time, then to a certainty Jackson Kent had had no hand in the killing. Still there was something unsaid between them. Ferris felt it. He put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder as they started for the door. Johnny stopped in his tracks. A flash of his eyes and the big man had his answer. “Johnny!” he gasped. “No! My God, no! The old man didn’t do that!” “Did I say so?” Johnny demanded vehemently. “No. But y’u were thinkin’ it. Up in the room last night it was my idea, too. I wondered if y’d suspect him.” Johnny could afford to be belligerent now. “You bet I did. I suspect every man in this town until I prove to myself that he’s innocent. That it wasn’t him, is all right with me. I couldn’t have gone after Molly Kent’s dad. There ain’t no one else in this town with any strings on him as far as I’m concerned. I’ll git the man.” Hobe knew this was not mere talk. “What are y’u goin’ to do now?” “Git busy! Like as not I’ll drift out to the ranch some time today and git my stuff. My address is where I hang my hat until I’ve put this puzzle together.” Calling the waiting Tony, the two men went down the street. “You forget anythin’ I said last night, Tony,” Johnny advised the Basque. “It’s out—complete. Git that!” The direction in which they were going made Tony ask their destination. “I’m goin’ to have a talk with Brackett. Let me do the palaverin’.” The liveryman had not yet seen the corpse, so Johnny’s statement that the big stallion belonged to the dead man was a surprise to Brackett. “Do you mind, Ed, if I have a look at the horse?” Johnny asked. “No harm in that,” Brackett answered. “Nobody know his name, you say?” “Total stranger, Ed. There might be some mark or somethin’ on his stuff.” This brief minute of importance appealed to Ed, and the three men began searching for some mark of identification. The missing saddlebag escaped Brackett’s attention. The search was a barren one, bed-roll, saddle and slicker being without any tell-tale mark. The stallion’s brand, a circle-dagger, had been over-burned years ago. “Didn’t he have nothin’ up to the hotel with him?” Ed asked. “Man would have an extra shirt and socks.” “Wasn’t a thing up there, Ed,” Johnny said truthfully. “Guess we can give up lookin’ here.” When they had left the stable Johnny asked the Basque: “Did you git what I found?” “No. Me, I get not’ing.” Johnny smiled.