"When I tell a lie, Red, I don't tell that kind. The whole thing was recorded nice and proper. All you got to do is go to the courthouse and look it up. I'd go for you, only the jail's in the basement and jails always give me a cold. Or, you can go ask the Weak Sister. He'll know about it. You gave him your power of attorney, didn't you? Oh, he'll know, all right." The two men stared at each other fixedly, the eyes of one frowning and penetrating, those of the other round and innocent. "I believe you are telling the truth," said Shandon slowly. "I don't see why you'd lie about a thing like this-- How do you know anything about it?" he asked suddenly. "How do I know Hazel's name is Helga?" smiled Dart. "There's tricks in every trade, Red." "If this thing is true--" "Go talk to the Weak Sister," said Dart briefly. Wayne swung about and without reply went swiftly down toward the corrals. Suddenly he stopped and came back. "You didn't tell me what Miss Leland said," he said shortly. Dart laughed in great amusement. "She didn't say anything. She's sore as a goat, though, Red. This Helga business sort of got on her nerves." Then Shandon went hurriedly toward the corrals. "Me," mused Dart, on his way to entertain Miss Helga Strawn during what might be a period of lonely waiting for her, "I'm almost chicken-hearted enough to feel sorry for the Weak Sister!" CHAPTER XVIII THE TRUTH "Garth!" There was a peculiar sternness in Wayne Shandon's voice that made his cousin start in a way which, to Shandon's taut nerves, seemed instantly a sign of guilt. Conway finished the work he was doing, snapped the heavy padlock into the log chain, which fastened the double doors of the small building where odds and ends were stored during the winter, and came on through the snow, smiting his hands together to get the chilled blood running. "Hello, Wayne," he answered. "What's up?" "That's what I want to know," briefly. "What do you know about a mortgage on the Bar L-M?" It was too dark for Shandon to see the other's face clearly. He noticed that Garth hesitated just a second before answering. "What do you mean?" Conway's voice sought to be confident and failed. Shandon's fist snapped shut involuntarily. It was almost, he thought, as if Garth had answered him directly. "I mean just this: Did you know that the Bar L-M was mortgaged to Martin Leland for twenty-five thousand dollars?" Garth Conway would not have been himself but some very different man had there not been a considerable pause before he replied. "Yes," he said at last, a little doggedly. "I knew it." "Arthur mortgaged it the day he was killed? Or the day before?" "Yes." "And the mortgage was foreclosed three months ago?" "Yes." "And you never told me about it! Why?"