Although not so close to Gallup’s house now, the boy could see into the room by standing erect. The car came to a stop almost opposite it. Johnny saw Thunder Bird tied in his chair, but Gallup was gone. “Downstairs, no doubt,” mused Johnny, “lookin’ for me.” For the ten minutes that the car stood on the siding Johnny stared into the lighted room. He did not know just what to do. Rescuing men from Gallup’s lair was hardly a thing to be pursued as a nightly vocation—that is, if one were at all fond of living. But on the other hand, Thunder Bird might hold the key to the entire situation. Johnny felt that the old chief could explain many things if he could be induced to talk. Obviously the thing to do was to find Madeiras and then force a way into Gallup’s house. Tony must be in town. Finding the Basque could not be more than an hour’s work. “Damn it,” Johnny muttered. “Wish I’d tipped him off to the truth. Hain’t helped a bit to let him think he killed me. I sure need him now. Charlie wouldn’t be no good at all. He’d want to stick a knife into Gallup.” The engine kicked a string of cars against the one upon which Johnny stood. They hit so sharply that the boy’s legs almost went out from under him. Crawling to the hand irons he swung his foot out to find the top one. He was facing the hotel for the first time. Before him was the room in which Traynor had been killed. Johnny drew back his foot, his brain reeling as he began putting two and two together. Once he stretched out his arm and touched the window sill. “My God,” he moaned, “this is _it_! It couldn’t be anythin’ else. It was this time of the night—the noise of the engine to kill the sound of the shot, a stick to lift the man’s gun, a toss of the arm to throw it back into the room after the killin’—it’s right as day! Why, of course—Traynor’s hat was damp. It was rainin’ that night. When whoever pulled it out to rip the band off, the rain got at it. And the wool—I picked up a piece of fleece from the floor. Teixarra was shippin’ wool that day. His cars stood right here. Mister, you’ve got the answer!” Johnny mopped his face with his hands. “Bumped him off with his own gun, too,” he muttered. “Right clever, that. Yes, sir, this was one of the most clever murders this State can boast of. I got to talk to somebody or bust. I’m goin’ to find Madeiras.” The car was moving away as Johnny swung to the ground. Half running, he burst into the Palace barroom. Scanlon dropped his cards as he caught sight of him. Vinnie shouted: “My God, you dead, Johnny?” “Dead, hell!” Johnny roared. “Do I look like a dead one? Where’s Madeiras?” “He ain’t been here,” Scanlon answered. “He was in town last night,” the boy exclaimed. “He ain’t far off right now. If you see him tell him I’m lookin’ for him—to come on the run!” Turning on his heel, Johnny flung himself through the door, deaf to the questions in Scanlon’s eyes.