It was possibly fifteen minutes after the last shot had been fired, when Brick heard a noise. It came from below him, and sounded like the snapping of a dry stick. Brick’s horse was well concealed by the willows from any one coming up the slope. Just below Brick was a jack-pine thicket, growing up out of a tangle of rocks and old logs, and he studied this closely. One of the jack-pine tops jiggled, as if something had struck it slightly. Brick humped a little lower and drew back the hammer on his six-shooter. Something was coming out through the thicket within ten feet of Brick. At first he thought it was a bear. Brick did not want trouble with a bear just now. A six-shooter is an unreliable bear weapon—and Brick was after bigger game. Then the bear resolved itself into a man—Santel. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes searching ahead—and looked into the muzzle of Brick’s six-shooter. For several moments they looked at each other. Then: “It’s yuh, eh?” said Santel softly. “Yeah,” nodded Brick. “Yuh better let go that gun, Santel.” “I know it.” Santel sat up, leaving his gun on the ground, while Brick moved down and secured it. Then he sat down and they considered each other. “Where’s your rifle?” queried Santel. He did not seem greatly concerned over his capture. “I haven’t any,” replied Brick. “No?” Santel wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “No rifle? Huh! Yuh didn’t kill my horse with a six-gun?” “I didn’t even shoot at your horse,” declared Brick. “No?” Santel’s brows lifted slightly, and a grin twisted his lips. “Well, somebody did, sheriff. My horse is dead—neck broke.” “Yeah?” Brick’s blue eyes squinted thoughtfully. “This must ’a’ been a three-handed game, Santel. Just what are yuh doin’ over here?” “Just lookin’. No law against lookin’ around, is there?” Brick grinned and handed Santel his gun. “Not a bit.” “Thanks,” Santel holstered his gun. “What was it all about?” Brick shook his head. He was as much in the dark as Santel. He told Santel what he had seen, but he did not say that he was of the opinion that the shots were fired by a meat-thief. Santel got to his feet and looked around. Brick walked back to his horse and picked up the reins. “You ride a sorrel, too, eh?” remarked Santel thoughtfully. “My horse is a sorrel.” “Mebbe,” said Brick seriously, “it was a good thing for me. We’ll cache yore saddle and ride my horse double.” They found Santel’s horse, unsaddled it and hid the saddle in the heavy foliage of a fir-tree. Santel studied the landmarks to get his bearings, mounted behind Brick and they headed for Marlin City. “Have yuh got any idea who done that shootin’?” asked Santel. “Not for publication,” replied Brick. “Anyway, the county commissioners told me to let yuh alone, Santel. They said that yuh wouldn’t need my help in findin’ out things.” “Tha’sso?” “Yeah, yo’re supposed to be a regular finder, yuh know.” “I’m tryin’ to find out some things, sheriff.”