Johnny knew it would be useless to urge haste. Tomorrow he would have his answer and not sooner. It would be an answer worth waiting for. If Thunder Bird had known Traynor and had had a hand in his death, then he would deny everything tomorrow. If Traynor had been his friend, the Indian would speak out. If neither of these suppositions were true, it followed that Thunder Bird’s runners would comb the Reservation. If Traynor had set foot in Elk Valley the Piute chief would know by morning. Johnny went back to the store to eat supper with the trader and to spend the evening in his company. Just before he reached the post he came face to face with Charlie Paul, Kent’s teamster. The Indian had come to the Reservation from the ranch, a distance of sixty miles, in less than four hours. A fair bit of riding when one considers the country over which he traveled. The effort left the man calm, unhurried. He had stolen away and surmised that he came on an urgent errand, but no trace of excitement was on his face. * * * * * Molly had appeared soon after Gallup’s departure, and upon asking for her pony, had been told that she was not to leave the house. Angry words followed, and Molly, defying the old man, had set off at a brisk walk for the hills. Kent called to Madeiras to follow her and keep her in sight until she came home. The command to the Basque was enough to dissuade the girl. She preferred being locked in her room to being spied upon by Madeiras. Later she became aware of the Basque’s presence on the porch outside her window. Kent worked in his office, door open. Molly saw that she was a prisoner. And why a prisoner unless she was to be forced to marry Gallup? This very day Molly had denied that she loved Johnny, but it was of him that she thought now. If any one could save her, he could. If she could get word to him, he’d come. It was the old man’s habit to fall asleep after dinner. The girl waited and listened for the sound of his asthmatic snoring. She had penned a note to Johnny. When she felt sure that the way to the rear of the house was open to her she crept out and found Charlie Paul. Her instructions to him were brief and without any definite destination. Johnny was somewhere on the Reservation. Charlie Paul would know how to find him. Ten minutes later the Piute had streaked away from the Diamond-Bar. In the eyes of the law he had stolen the horse which he rode; his job was gone, and he was on the side of danger—all of this just to repay the girl for the respect she had always shown him. Pretty good stuff, that, for an Indian. “Hello, you, Charlie Paul!” Johnny called. Charlie Paul smiled. “How?” he grunted. “Me find you.” “Find me? How come?” Charlie grinned as he handed Molly’s letter to Johnny. He was an Indian, but he knew a thing or two. Johnny lost his happy-go-lucky air as he read the following brief note: “Johnny: