"No, it didn't," snapped Threewit. Nobody likes to be dragged out of bed at two A.M., to hear bad news, and the director was merely human. "It makes me tired the way you two fellows shoot off about each other." "He's a pretty slick proposition," Yeager went on, unmoved. "He hit the high spots back to town so as to have his alibi ready--didn't leave any evidence floating around loose in his room. He must have come up the back way so as to slip in without being noticed by the night clerk. At that he couldn't have reached here more than a few minutes before me." "Quite a Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" "Bet you a week's salary that if we go out to the stables we find one of the horses still wet with sweat from a long run." "Go you once," retorted Threewit promptly. "Wait just a jiffy till I get more clothes on." Steve's prediction was verified. White Stockings, one of the fastest mounts in the remuda of the company, had been brought in from a long hard run within the past half-hour. Its flanks were stained with sweat and the marks of the saddle chafed its still moist back. "You win," admitted Threewit. "But that doesn't prove Harrison was on its back." "No. Say, what about giving me a week off, Mr. Threewit?" "What for?" "I've just taken a notion to travel some. Mebbe I might run acrost those cattle that strayed back to Yarnell's whilst I was sleeping." The director looked at him sharply. "All right. Go to it, son." CHAPTER VI PLUCKING A PIGEON Steve slept almost around the clock. He lost breakfast, but was there promptly for luncheon with the appetite of a harvest hand. During the two days' drive he had missed the good home cooking of Mrs. Seymour and he intended to make up for it. Orman and Shorty had reached town some time about daylight and had spread the story of the holdup, so that the dining-room was humming with excitement. A dozen questions were flung at Steve before he had well taken his seat. He threw up his hands in surrender. Before he had finished telling his edited story, Shorty drifted in and divided the interest. The little extra promptly took the stage away from Yeager, whereupon Daisy Ellington absorbed the attention of Steve. She asked a sharp question or two which he answered blandly. It was not his intention to communicate any suspicions he happened to have. They were waiting for the dessert. Daisy put her lean, pretty elbows on the table and her chin in her little doubled fists. A provocative audacity was in the tilted smile she flashed at him. "Well?" "Well, what?" "Breeze on, Steve. You're doin' fine. Next scene." "That's all." "Say, do I look like I was born yesterday? See any green in my eye, Cactus Center?" He grinned. "You're sure wise, compadre. But the rest is mostly suspicions." "I'm listening," she nodded. "You're such a Sherlock Holmes I'd hate to go out with the boys if I was married to you."