"Because we know you couldn't have taken it far. Here's the point. You had it when Fox made his getaway. Beulah was right behind you, so we know you didn't get a chance to bury it between there and town. We covered your tracks and you didn't leave the road in that half-mile. That brings you as far as Battle Butte. You had the gunnysack when you crossed the bridge. You didn't have it when Slim Sanders met you. So you must have got rid of it in that distance of less than a quarter of a mile. First off, I figured you dropped the sack in Hague's alfalfa field. But we've tramped that all over. It's not there. Did you meet some one and give it to him? Or how did you get rid of it?" "I ate it," grinned Dingwell confidentially. "The boys are getting impatient, Dave. They don't like the way you butted in." "That's all right. You're responsible for my safety, Hal. I'll let you do the worrying." "Don't fool yourself. We can't keep you here forever. We can't let you go without an agreement. Figure out for yourself what's likely to happen?" "Either my friends will rescue me, or else I'll escape." "Forget it. Not a chance of either." Rutherford stopped, struck by an idea. "Ever hear of a young fellow called Cherokee Street?" "No. Think not. Is he a breed?" "White man." Rutherford took a chair close to Dingwell. He leaned forward and asked another question in a low voice. "Never happened to meet the son of John Beaudry, did you?" Dingwell looked at him steadily out of narrowed eyes. "I don't get you, Hal. What has he got to do with it?" "Thought maybe you could tell me that. He's in the park now." "In the park?" "Yes--and Jess Tighe knows it." "What's he doing here?" But even as he asked the other man, Dingwell guessed the answer. Not an hour before he had caught a glimpse of a white, strained face at the window. He knew now whose face it was. "He's spying on us and sleuthing for evidence to send us to the pen. Think he'd be a good risk for an insurance company?" Dave thought fast. "I don't reckon you're right. I put the kid through law school. My friends have likely sent him up here to look for me." Rutherford scoffed. "Nothing to that. How could they know you are here? We didn't advertise it." "No-o, but--" Dingwell surrendered the point reluctantly. He flashed a question at Rutherford. "Tighe will murder him. That's sure. You going to let him?" "Not if I can help it. I'm going to send young Beaudry out of the park." "Fine. Don't lose any time about it, Hal." The Huerfano Park rancher made one more attempt to shake his prisoner. His dark eyes looked straight into those of Dingwell. "Old-timer, what about you? I ain't enjoying this any more than you are. But it's clear out of my hands." "Then why worry?" asked Dingwell, a little grin on his drawn face. "Hell! What's the use of asking that? I'm no Injun devil," barked Rutherford irritably.