Moody and preoccupied, he watched Young and his bodyguard disappear down the trail. He was recalled by hearing the Missourian's drawling voice at his elbow. “Well, elder, the boy was so tuckered out he plumb fell-asleep at table, and the lady she toted him off to bed; she allowed she knowed what he needed.” “Were you going on to-day?” asked Ephriam quickly. “Yes, but the lady's got the start of us; she's got the kid,” said the Missourian. It was plain he approved of the lady. “What shall you do with him?” demanded Ephriam. “Doggone if I know!” said the Missourian rather helplessly. “Send him back to the States, I reckon, as soon as we can.” “Then you'd better leave him here with me.” “We certainly are obliged to you,” cried the Missourian. “But look here,” it was Jim who spoke. “What about them five men? If it was redskins, it was all right; but if it wasn't redskins, who the hell was it?” He glanced from one to the other. “I reckon you got folks down in Salt Lake who'll make it their business to have a look at that trail?” said the Missourian. “It is better that you say nothing of your suspicions,” said Ephriam. The Missourian turned on Raymond swiftly, and pushing back the brim of his hat looked him squarely in the face. “I'm a talking man, neighbour,” said he in his slow drawl. “I done a heap of talking in my time, and I allow to keep right on giving people the advantage of my opinions. I don't fancy being advised to keep my mouth shut about this.” “You misunderstand me,” answered Ephriam quietly. “If it becomes known that there is reason to doubt the Indians were solely responsible for the killing of those men, it will make talk; and, supposing the guilty parties are in camp near the city—and many strangers are in camp there—we may have to look far for them when we want them.” “That sounds a whole lot better,” said the Missourian. “Well, we'll tuck along into town, and we leave the boy with you to send back to the States.” Ephriam led the way to the log stables. He wanted to see the last of these two men, before he repented of the part he was playing. They seemed simple, kindly fellows, who would have dealt fairly by the boy. The Missourian wrung his hand with fervour at parting. “You let us out easy, yet it ain't really fitting we should carry him on to California,” he said. Ephriam stood by the corral as they rode away. “They are honest fellows,” he muttered at last, and then he realized that he was staring at a stretch of empty road, they had passed from sight down the trail. He went slowly back to the house. His daughter met him at the door. “Why, have they gone?” she said in surprise. “Yes—” “But the boy, father?” “He is to stay with us until I can send him to the States,” he told her. She saw nothing unusual in what he had done; since this kindness, for such it seemed to her, was wholly characteristic of him. “That's just like you, father; you are always taking trouble for other people.”