The Lone Ranger nodded. "Very well, then, but remember what I told you." He was about to re-enter Bryant's room, but Wallie halted him. "What do you want?" asked the Ranger. "You said somethin' about cattle-stealin' around here." "A lot of cattle has been stolen from ranches around this part of the country." The masked man explained the means that had been used to rebrand the stolen cattle in the Basin, give the burns a chance to heal, then sell the stock with brands that suited bills of sale. He told of the trail down Thunder Mountain that had been used for shuttling cattle into and out of the Basin. Wallie seemed genuinely amazed to learn that things of this sort had gone on beneath his unsuspecting nose. "You plan to stay here until the law men come, is that it?" asked Wallie when the masked man finished. "Yes. I want to have a talk with Bryant. Perhaps I can persuade him to tell all he knows. It will save him a lot of trouble to talk first." "He won't talk," replied Wallie. "I don't know about that." "I never knew a more close-lipped, stubborn man in my life. No amount of threatenin' could loosen his tongue. He'd put up with all the torture an Apache could concoct an' never say a word." "Nevertheless, he's not a fool. He's a shrewd man, and his whole life has been made up of weighing the odds, then playing his cards. I have a hunch that he'll realize the advantage of telling all he can." "Why?" "If he doesn't, he'll be in no position to compromise with the law and he'll spend the rest of his life in jail for trying to murder Yuma. If he's willing to talk, he might get off scot-free and be allowed to guide the future of his niece." Wallie nodded slowly. "Maybe," he said, "you're right. I'll be downstairs to see that those crooks don't get out of the vault. If there's anything you want, just holler." "Thanks." The Lone Ranger returned to Bryant's room. Chapter XXV WHO IS ANDREW MUNSON? The masked man paused at the door until he heard Wallie reach the first floor of the big house. He waited another moment, listening intently, but heard nothing. He wondered where the men were whom he'd seen approach the house with guns drawn, and what they were doing at the moment. Then he closed the door and would have locked it, but he found no key. Bryant Cavendish lay on the bed, flat on his back. His mouth was half-open and his eyes were closed. He slept noisily, breathing with a throaty sound. The old man had been through a strenuous ordeal. The Lone Ranger stepped to the bed and placed sensitive fingers on the pulse in Bryant's wrist. The heartbeat was firm and steady. The sleep, apparently, was normal sleep brought on by sheer exhaustion, not abnormal unconsciousness. "Just as well," the masked man muttered. "If he'll stay asleep for a little while I'll have a look at that desk."