The little fellow, in spite of his treatment, had seen the warty hands and the leaping frog, and they had impressed him so strongly that there was no chance of a mistake. “Good boy,” breathed Brick, and then a little louder, “Bartender, will yuh please put this boy on yore side of the bar?” The frightened drink-dispenser shuffled down behind Brick, lifted the youngster down and went quickly back to the farther end of the bar. Leach laughed. Somewhere a handful of poker-chips slid from a table and rattled to the floor. “What’s it all about, anyway?” demanded Leach. Brick leaned back against the bar. His face was drawn, blue, in that weak light, and he seemed tired. But those who knew him well, knew that he was dangerous now. The light-hearted, devil-may-care Brick Davidson was gone, and in his place was the sheriff of Sun Dog, a man-hunter— not a detective. “It took quite a while,” Brick’s voice was pitched low, but plainly audible to every one in the room. “Sometimes things take a long time to work out. A lot of yuh don’t know that Baldy Malloy was shot through the heart before he went over the grade. I knew it, Doctor Meyers knew it, and Grant and Santel knew it. I reckon it’s been kept sort of a secret. “I reckon that Baldy was shot because he bucked against doin’ any more crooked work. It kinda looks like Baldy wanted to go straight on account of his little kid; but they couldn’t let him get away, ’cause he felt indebted to me for savin’ his kid.” “You ain’t guessin’ everythin’, are yuh, Brick?” queried Bill Grant anxiously. “Not all of it. A lot of it is guesswork, Bill; but I’ll bet my life that I’m close to the bull’s-eye. It’s a funny thing—” Brick shifted slightly and a grin passed his lips—“we’ve had several robberies, which never occurred. Baldy Malloy was held up, Ike Welden was held up, and the Silverton bank was robbed. “The robbers in each case were described as bein’ the same men. And the funny part of it all is the fact that the descriptions cover me, Harp Harris and Silent Slade. Nobody seen ’em except Baldy Malloy, Ike Welden and Meecham. Gents, those robberies never occurred.” “The —— they didn’t!” Ike Welden’s voice squeaked like a discordant fiddle. “What in —— do you know about it?” “Why—why, that is ridiculous,” faltered Meecham. “And you better stay where yuh are,” warned Silent, as Meecham moved slightly backward. “Baldy Malloy’s shack caught fire just before the bank robbery,” continued Brick. “Everybody went to the fire. It sure was a good chance to rob the bank.” “Just what is all this conversation about?” queried Leach. He folded his arms and squinted at Brick, trying to cover his nervousness. Brick laughed at him—with his mouth; the rest of his face tensed, serious. The crowd shifted audibly. “Mebbe yuh don’t get the drift of it, Leach,” said Brick. “I’ll start a little further back in hist’ry and give yuh a chance to foller me. “It began in Idaho.”