"Hazel?" frowned Shandon. "Sure," grinned Dart. "We got chummy as twins riding over, didn't we? Come on, Red. This here is urgent." "It will have to wait, Dart. Miss--" "Hazleton," prompted Helga. "Sure," put in Dart. "Her uncle used to know my aunt in Poughkeepsie. Come on, Red." "Dart," cried Shandon, "you get out! We are busy." Dart went slowly back to the door, to the surprise of Shandon who knew so well the little man's tenacity. "Oh, well," he said mournfully from across the room. "Only Wanda said--" "You will excuse me a moment?" Wayne asked hurriedly. Dart, already outside was grinning broadly. "What is it?" queried Shandon. "Whatever it is it'll keep until we get where we can talk," was the dogged answer. "There's nobody in the bunk house. Come on." He hastened down the steps, Wayne following him. Only when they were in the bunk house, the door closed, the lamp lighted, did Dart speak. "First thing," he said abruptly, "Hazel's name begins with an H, but she spells it Helga!" "You little weasel! Well, what about it? And what about Miss Leland?" "Wanda's part will keep. Gee, Red, she's some swell dame, that Egyptian skirt, take it from me! She's got Macbeth's frau of the fairy tale faded to a finish, ain't she?" "Look here, Dart . . ." "It's cold weather," interrupted Dart. "Keep your undershirt on, Red. When your brother Archie mortgaged the Bar L-M . . ." "What fool's nonsense are you talking, Dart?" demanded Shandon. "Arthur never mortgaged--" "Uhuh. I thought you didn't know about it. Now I'm here to tell you something you ought to know. I guess the Weak Sister forgot to tell you about it. Archie mortgaged the Bar L-M, he socked a plaster worth twenty-five thousand dollars on it, _the day before somebody put him out_. Get that?" Wayne stared at him wonderingly. Suddenly he shot out his two hands and gripped Dart's shoulders, jerking the little man toward him threateningly. "What's your game, you little crook? You lie to me and I'll come so close to killing you we'll both be sorry." "Listen to that now," sighed Dart. "When one pal tries to wise another up--" "Talk fast," said Shandon sternly. "What are you talking about?" "Give me a chance to breathe and I'll spit it out. Your brother mortgaged the outfit for twenty-five thousand. You never heard about it. Some guy who was wise croaked him. Where's the twenty-five thousand? What's the answer?" "Good God!" muttered Shandon. Dart, suddenly released, moved a little further away and smoothed his coat collar. "The mortgage was held by a man I used to call a pal," he volunteered further. "I don't call him that any longer. I mean old Mart." "Martin Leland! You mean to tell me that Martin Leland held a mortgage over the Bar L-M for twenty-five thousand dollars and that I never heard of it?" "Yep," answered Dart lightly. "And three months ago he foreclosed. Funny, ain't it?" "It's impossible. It's one of your fool lies, Dart."