“By gosh, I’m ’fraid for scare,” said Le Blanc, the blacksmith. “De sheriff h’office she’s gone for good. Don’ somebody know w’ere Breek and Harp be?” “They went to bed about nine o’clock,” volunteered the bartender. “I know that much. But what in —— happened, Wesson? Was it some dynamite exploded?” “It hit me,” said Silent. “I was tryin’ to wake Brick up at the back door.” “If they were in the office, they’re done for,” declared Cale Wesson. “That was a heap of ruins when I got here, and I was one of the first.” Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller, their dresses scorched, faces red from the heat, heard Cale Wesson’s opinion. “Do you mean to say that Brick and Harp were in their office?” demanded Mrs. Wesson shakily. “They went to bed at nine o’clock,” declared the bartender. “My ——!” gasped Mrs. Wesson. “I can’t believe it. What was it, Cale? What started it?” “I dunno.” Cale was glumly watching the flames eat through the buildings toward his store. “I’ve got to save what I can, Ma. You keep out of it, can’tcha?” Cale hurried away toward the store, while Silent, Mrs. Wesson and Miss Miller went as near as possible to the blazing heap that had been the sheriff’s office and stood together, watching it. The bucket-brigade had shifted their operations to putting out any small blaze that might occur on the opposite side of the street, as they knew that their puny efforts would avail nothing against that blaze, which sent fire-streamers far up into the sky, showering blazing cinders in the wind. “Can it be possible that they were in there?” asked Miss Miller wearily, pointing at the flames. “Somebody dynamited the office,” declared Silent. His mind was functioning perfectly again, and he remembered the man he had seen leaving the rear of the office. “Do you think it was done on purpose?” queried Mrs. Wesson. “Yes’m, I sure do. Brick and Harp never kept any dynamite in the office.” “But why would any one do a thing like that?” asked Miss Miller. “Surely no one would do it.” “Wouldn’t they?” Silent laughed hoarsely and began feeling of his face. “By grab, I come danged near bein’ included.” His face was badly skinned. In fact, one eyebrow was almost obliterated, his nose flattened, lips swollen. “I reckon the door patted me in the face and I slept fifteen minutes,” he said, trying to grin. “I’m full of splinters, that’s a cinch.” “Well, who would do it?” demanded Mrs. Wesson hotly. “If I knowed, I’d sure tan his hide and make me a new _latigo_. Somebody stole my horse, too. I tell yuh this country is gettin’ ornery, Mrs. Wesson. What this country needs is a good old wholesale killin’. And—” Silent pointed toward the flames—“if old Brick ain’t in there, I’ve got a danged good hunch that there will be.” “Oh, do you think there is a chance that they were not in that office?” asked Miss Miller anxiously, hopefully. “I couldn’t wake ’em up,” explained Silent. “I hammered on the front door and then the back door hammered on me.”