Allen shook hands with Doc and grinned a greeting. Doc Hollis was a small, rotund man with a smooth, bald head. He stared in puzzled wonder at the outlaw. It seemed impossible that this smiling, freckle-faced boy could be the most notorious gunman of all time. Allen seemed to read his thoughts, for he said with a broad, loose grin: "I'm sure me." The doctor chuckled, and Bill McAllister's leathery face broke into a fleeting smile. "What yuh aimin' to do?" Doc asked curiously. "Postmaster a friend of yourn?" Allen countered. "Frank Cragg? He sure is," Doc answered. "Do yuh figger he'd fake a letter--postmarks an' the whole thing--an' make believe it just arrived from New Mex for Squint Lane?" Allen asked. "Reckon he would. Why?" "Well, if he tol' folks he had a letter which looked important for Squint, mebbe one of Squint's friends would put a new address on it, an' then we'd know where to look for Squint," Allen said, grinning. "I'm bettin' there's three or four of Spur's gunmen who knows where Squint's holdin' out," Doc cried excitedly. In case the letter was opened by some friends, they carefully wrote a long epistle from a supposed friend of Squint's in New Mexico. "Now, Doc, there's one other thing yuh can do. Did yuh ever stop to figger that if Slivers was blottin' Double R cows to Double B, it's darn funny that after he lights out there wasn't enough cows to sell an' pay off a measly eight hundred what he owed to ol' Miser Jimpson." "Darn me--that's true," Bill McAllister growled. "Sure is--an' I never thought about it," Doc commented. "Then yuh start other folks a-thinkin'. Sorta hints that the gent what framed Slivers was the one what ran off his Double B cows." Doc persuaded Allen to wait for them; there was no use for him to run the risk of being recognized on the streets. Doc Hollis and McAllister would visit the post office and arrange about the letter, and then they would all have supper with Mrs. Hart, Slivers' mother. As the two walked toward the door, Allen stopped them. "When did this rustlin' start?" he asked. "About six-seven months ago. Old man Reed began to suspect some one was makin' free with his cows. He started the boys ridin' night herd. Pretty soon a bunch of 'em runs into a gang of rustlers, an' two of 'em, Bill Steel an' 'Big-foot' gets downed. The old man knows then the rustlers is strong an' workin' hard, so he sends down to the border for a bunch of gunmen. But the rustlin' goes right on--we has several night battles. Then Slivers is supposed to down Iky Small an' lights for the hills." McAllister concluded and cut off a large piece of black plug, which he thrust into his mouth. "But the rustlin' goes right on?" Allen asked. "Correct. Then the ol' man gets plumb crazy, 'cause his cows is bein' run off wholesale. A little later he gets downed," Doc cut in. "Any rustlin' since then?"