LITMIR.BIZ

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      “The old man has just sent me out on hurry-up orders. Don't know when I'll get back. Suggest you take in the show at the opera house to-night to pass the time.”

      It was the last sentence that caught Bucky's attention. Jim Malloy had not written it except for a reason. Wherefore the lieutenant purchased two tickets for the performance far back in the house. From the local newspaper he gathered that the showman was henceforth to be a resident of Epitaph. Mr. Jay Hardman, or Signor Raffaello Cavellado, as he was known the world over by countless thousands whom he had entertained, had purchased a corral and livery stable at the corner of Main and Boothill Streets and solicited the patronage of the citizens of Hualpai County. That was the purport of the announcement which Bucky ringed with a pencil and handed to his friend.

      That evening Signor Raffaello Cavellado made a great hit with his audience. He swaggered through his act magnificently, and held his spectators breathless. Bucky took care to see that a post and the sheriff's big body obscured him from view during the performance.

      After it was over O'Connor and the sheriff returned to the hotel, where also Hardman was for the present staying, and sent word up to his room that one of the audience who had admired very much the artistic performance would like the pleasure of drinking a glass of wine with Signor Cavellado if the latter would favor him with his company in room seven. The Signor was graciously pleased to accept, and followed his message of acceptance in person a few minutes later.

      Bucky remained quietly in the corner of the room back of the door until the showman had entered, and while the latter was meeting Collins he silently locked the door and pocketed the key.

      The sheriff acknowledged Hardman's condescension brusquely and without shaking hands. “Glad to meet you, seh. But you're mistaken in one thing. I'm not your host. This gentleman behind you is.”

      The man turned and saw Bucky, who was standing with his back against the door, a bland smile on his face.

      “Yes, seh. I'm your host to-night. Sheriff Collins, hyer, is another guest. I'm glad to have the pleasure of entertaining you, Signor Raffaello Cavellado,” Bucky assured him, in his slow, gentle drawl, without reassuring him at all.

      For the fellow was plainly disconcerted at recognition of his host. He turned with a show of firmness to Collins. “If you're a sheriff, I demand to have that door opened at once,” he blustered.

      Val put his hands in his pockets and tipped back his chair. “I ain't sheriff of Hualpai County. My jurisdiction don't extend here,” he said calmly.

      “I'm an unarmed man,” pleaded Cavellado.

      “Come to think of it, so am I.”

      “I reckon I'm holding all the aces, Signor Cavellado,” explained the ranger affably. “Or do you prefer in private life to be addressed as Hardman—or, say, Anderson?”

      The showman moistened his lips and offered his tormentor a blanched face.

      “Anderson—a good plain name. I wonder, now, why you changed it?” Bucky's innocent eyes questioned him blandly as he drew from his pocket a little box and tossed it on the table. “Open that box for me, Mr. Anderson. Who knows? It might explain a heap of things to us.”

      With trembling fingers the big coward fumbled at the string. With all his fluent will he longed to resist, but the compelling eyes that met his so steadily were not to be resisted. Slowly he unwrapped the paper and took the lid from the little box, inside of which was coiled up a thin gold chain with locket pendant.

      “Be seated,” ordered Bucky sternly, and after the man had found a chair the ranger sat down opposite him.

      From its holster he drew a revolver and from a pocket his watch. He laid them on the table side by side and looked across at the white-lipped trembler whom he faced.

      “We had better understand each other, Mr. Anderson. I've come here to get from you the story of that chain, so far as you know it. If you don't care to tell it I shall have to mess this floor up with your remains. Get one proposition into your cocoanut right now. You don't get out of this room alive with your secret. It's up to you to choose.”

      Quite without dramatics, as placidly as if he were discussing railroad rebates, the ranger delivered his ultimatum. It seemed plain that he considered the issue no responsibility of his.

      Anderson stared at him in silent horror, moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. Once his gaze shifted to the sheriff but found small comfort there. Collins had picked up a newspaper and was absorbed in it.

      “Are you going to let him kill me?” the man asked him hoarsely.

      He looked up from his newspaper in mild protest at such unreason. “Me? I ain't sittin' in this game. Seems like I mentioned that already.”

      “Better not waste your time, signor, on side issues,” advised the man behind the gun. “For I plumb forgot to tell you I'm allowing only three minutes to begin your story, half of which three has already slipped away to yesterday's seven thousand years. Without wantin' to hurry you, I suggest the wisdom of a prompt decision.”

      “Would he do it?” gasped the victim, with a last appeal to Collins.

      “Would he what? Oh, shoot you up. Cayn't tell till I see. If he says he will he's liable to. He always was that haidstrong.”

      “But—why—why—”

      “Yes, it's sure a heap against the law, but then Bucky ain't a lawyer. I don't reckon he cares sour grapes for the law—as law. It's a right interesting guess as to whether he will or won't.”

      “There's a heap of cases the law don't reach prompt. This is one of them,” contributed the ranger cheerfully. He pocketed his watch and picked up the .45. “Any last message or anything of that sort, signor? I don't want to be unpleasant about this, you understand.”

      The whilom bad man's teeth chattered. “I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

      “Now, that's right sensible. I hate to come into another man's house and clutter it up. Reel off your yarn.”

      “I don't know—what you want.”

      “I want the whole story of your kidnapping of the Mackenzie child, how came you to do it, what happened to Dave Henderson, and full directions where I may locate Frances Mackenzie. Begin at the beginning, and I'll fire questions at you when you don't make any point clear to me. Turn loose your yarn at me hot off the bat.”

      The man told his story sullenly. While he was on the round-up as cook for the riders he had heard Mackenzie and Henderson discussing together the story of their adventure with the dying Spaniard and their hopes of riches from the mine he had left them. From that night he had set himself to discover the secret of its location, had listened at windows and at keyholes, and had once intercepted a letter from one to the other. By chance he had discovered that the baby was carrying the secret in her locket, and he had set himself to get it from her.

      But his chance did not come. He could not make friends with her, and at last, in despair of finding a better opportunity, he had slipped into her room one night in the small hours to steal the chain. But it was wound round her neck in such a way that he could not slip it over her head. She had awakened while he was fumbling with the clasp and had begun to cry. Hearing her mother moving about in the next room, he had hastily carried the child with him, mounted the horse waiting in the yard, and ridden away.

      In the road he became aware, some time later, that he was being pursued. This gave him a dreadful fright, for, as Bucky had surmised, he thought his pursuer was Mackenzie. All night he rode southward wildly, but still his follower kept on his trail till near morning, when he eluded him. He crossed the border, but late that afternoon got another fright. For it was plain he was still being followed. In the endless stretch of rolling hills he twice caught sight of a rider picking his way toward him. The heart of the guilty man was like water. He could not face the outraged father, nor was it possible to escape so dogged a foe by flight. An alternative suggested itself, and he accepted it with sinking

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