A horseman was riding into town, heading for the rack at the Dollar Down. It was Santel. Miss Miller looked toward him and turned to Brick. “Mr. Davidson, do you know that man?” she asked. “Yes’m. His name is Santel.” “What is he doing here?” “Well, I reckon he’s workin’ for the Star-Dot outfit, ma’am.” “For Mr. Grant?” “Yes’m.” “Do you know anything about him?” “No, ma’am—not a thing. Did you ever see him before?” “Yes. It was about a year ago, I think—in Idaho. This man was mixed up in some cattle and sheep trouble. It seems that he was hired as gun-man by the sheep interests. Anyway, a couple of cowboys were murdered, and every one seemed to think that this man was the guilty party. But he left the country ahead of the sheriff.” “Tha’sso?” Brick was interested. “Are yuh sure this is the same man?” “As sure as I can be. I have never met him, and he probably does not remember ever seeing me.” “Well, that kinda makes him worth watchin’,” grinned Brick, as they went up to Wesson’s porch. “You just kinda keep still about this will yuh, ma’am? It won’t help none to scatter that kind of information; but I’m sure much obliged to yuh for tellin’ me about it.” “You are certainly welcome, I am sure.” Mrs. Wesson opened the door. She had seen them from the window, but simulated great surprize. “Heavenly dove!” she exclaimed. “Brick Davidson!” “’Lo, Mrs. Wesson.” Mrs. Wesson squinted at Miss Miller, shaking her head slowly. “My, my! You girls sure do swing a wide loop. A new one every day. It wasn’t that way in my time. Well, I reckon you can take a look at Cale Wesson and see that I didn’t have much choice.” “I heard Cale say about the same thing one day,” offered Brick innocently. “Yuh did? Did that lantern-jawed—say, he picked me out of a whole herd. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Come on in, Brickie.” “Can’t do it, Mrs. Wesson. I’ve got to go back now and square myself with Harp.” Miss Miller thanked Brick and went into the house. “No sign of the little Malloy boy?” asked Mrs. Wesson softly. Brick shook his head. “No, I guess the kid is a goner, Mrs. Wesson. I don’t _sabe_ it at all. He was a dinger of a little feller. Kinda up and comin’ all the time.” They considered the mystery silently for a while. Then: “Well, I’ll be goin’,” said Brick. “There’s a lot of work to bein’ a sheriff.” “Like packin’ schoolbooks and all that.” “Uh-huh,” grinned Brick. “So-long, Mrs. Wesson.” “G’-by, Brick.” Brick went to the Dollar Down, but did not find Harp and Silent. A poker game was in progress and Leach was in the game. Santel was one of the spectators. He nodded to Brick pleasantly, but not so Leach. He scowled at Brick and devoted the rest of his attention to his cards. Brick went back to his office and found Silent and Harp, lying on the cots, reading some year-old magazines. Neither of them paid any attention to Brick, who rolled a cigaret and sat down on top of his desk. “Miss Miller is a danged nice girl,” offered Brick.