LITMIR.BIZ

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had been neatly betrayed. That was obvious. The Chattos had done an extra good job and had got themselves out of the way with no difficulty at all. With as little trust as he had in that fine pair of rascals and with all the wariness he had exercised, Lin was forced to admit that they had given him no good grounds for suspicion imtil the very last moment when the posse had swamped him. Now that it was over he understood the reason for Beauty's lighting the match and the reason for putting him in the rear of the herd. That light had been a signal, perhaps not to the posse as a whole, but at least to some advanced member who had returned to the group and reported it. The Chattos, meanwhile, had quietly dropped away from the gully in the dark and put themselves out of danger.

      I might have been a little shrewder, Lin admitted, if I hadn't been so all-fired set on discovering something for myself. But seeing that I had a particular job to do, I let them pull the wool over my eyes. A man naturally wouldn't expect that couple of born crooks to be dickering with a cattle committee. They're not that fond of the law and they know pretty well that the cattlemen don't view them in any favorable light. There's a missing link somewhere.

      Somebody who worked with the Chattos had tipped off the committee, and the committee, not knowing that the Chattos were involved, had followed the clue given them.

      Such a fellow might be a ranch owner himself, Lin surmised, rolling himself a new smoke. Probably the very same gent who handles their tampered beef for them. Probably some dude in good standing with everybody. Even possibly a member of the cattle committee itself. It's a game where everybody's asking everybody else, "Who's crooked, you or me?" Now, I wonder...

      He left that particular train of thought to follow another. Why should anyone want to pick on so small and insignificant a creature in the valley's affairs as Lin Ballou? Somebody who had a grudge against him...

      He sat up and threw away the newly built cigarette. "I've got it," he murmured aloud. "But how am I going to prove it?"

      Rising from the bunk, he walked around the room, trying to piece together all the odds and ends of the last forty-eight hours. Noon came, and another good meal from the restaurant, along with the jailer's cheerless presence. And, somewhere beyond the middle of the afternoon, the corridor swung open again and Gracie Henry entered, half running. Valley dust was all over her clothes and trouble was in her eyes. She took one look at Ballou and the cheerless room he had to occupy and then the words tumbled out of her mouth.

      "How do they dare do an unjust thing like this? Lin, what made them? Why, when a rider came past our place and told us, I wouldn't believe him at first. What have you done?"

      "Didn't the rider tell you?"

      "Oh, do you suppose I believe what folks say about you? I don't listen to gossip like that."

      The jailer, loitering behind, spoke up. "Well, mebbe it's gossip and mebbe it's truth. When old man Offut catches a man, you can bet your bottom dollar there's a reason."

      Gracie Henry was thoroughly angry. She turned on the unfortunate jailer and withered him. "You're an old meddler and you carry tales worse than a woman! Get downstairs and quit spying! I'm not going to carry off your jail."

      The jailer suddenly saw his duty to be elsewhere and went to it without argument. Gracie put one hot hand through the grating and touched Lin's shoulder. Now you look me in the eyes, Lin Ballou, and tell me. Does your conscience tell you you've done something wrong?

      "My conscience," Lin said, smiling just a little at her flushed, half-angry sincerity, "ain't so much of a safe guide as you might reckon. But such as it is, I can truthfully say it doesn't bother me the least."

      "Then," Gracie said, "I'll not think another thing about it. Whatever they have against you is wrong. I'm going right over to Dan Rounds—"

      Lin shook his head. "You're a fine sport, Gracie girl, but don't do it. I'm asking you not to."

      "Why?"

      "I'm waiting for folks on the other side of the fence to start the ball rolling. Somebody is mighty interested in seeing me put away and I'm trying to discover who. Let it ride a while."

      Gracie came closer to the door and lowered her voice. "Be careful, Lin. I passed three men sitting on the curb below and when they saw me they stopped talking. But one of them had said something about a necktie party."

      "Who were they?" Lin asked quickly.

      "I don't know them. Some ranch hands."

      "I'd certainly like to know which way that wind blows from. Now, Gracie, you better run along. This is no place for a nice girl to be. My love and kisses to the judge."

      Serious as she was, that made her smile. '"You'd blush to hear his opinion of you now." Her gaze swept the interior of the room. "My, I wish I could get in there with a broom."

      "Why, it's right comfortable. I'm having my first rest in several years. Now listen to something, Gracie. Its a treat to have you come, but if I've got it figured right there's certain parties who might make trouble for you. So you stay by the judge until this blows over."

      She was a girl with plenty of spirit and the warning did not greatly impress her. But Lin extracted a promise after some persistence. She went down the stairs, gave the jailer another hearty glare and stepped into the street.

      The same group of men sat on the curbstone and again fell silent as she passed. One of these, a small, wizened-face creature with watery blue eyes, shot a furtive glance her way and immethately dropped his head. A half block onward, James J. Lestrade stepped out of the grain store and nearly bowled her over. Instantly he was all affability. His hat came off and one pudgy hand fell lightly on her shoulder.

      "Gracie, if you're going home let me escort you."

      "Thank you," Gracie said shortly. "I've got something else in mind."

      Lestrade sobered a little. "Expect you been to see Lin. Wouldn't do it if I was you, Gracie. Folks are known by the company they keep, you know."

      She grew angry again. "I'll not hear a word against him. He's absolutely honest."

      Lestrade shrugged his broad shoulders and pursed his lips. "Caught with the goods, Gracie. That's what he was. And it'll go plenty hard with the boy. Well, you tell the judge I'm coming out to see him tonight on a piece of business."

      She nodded and passed on. The meeting left her in an extremely unhappy frame of mind. Lestrade's words and manner had earned a threat, both for herself and for Lin Ballou. And his eyes had held an expression she did not like. The man had grown too friendly, too paternal in the past week.

      On the opposite side of the street she saw W. W Offut moving slowly along, seemingly plunged in thought And although Lin had asked her expressly to forebear appealing to anyone, she acted on impulse and crossed over.

      "Mr. Offut," she said, speaking all in a rush, "you're a fair man and you've always been a friend of ours. Now, whatever happens, you've got to see that Lin gets justice. You've got to!"

      Something like a smile—or the closest approach to it the girl had ever seen—came to the broad, enigmatic face. "Miss Gracie, I'm proud to have you call me fair. Depend on it, the boy will be treated right Be easy on that. Lin won't lack help."

      The manner in which he said it and the way his steel-blue eyes rested on her face comforted her more than anything else could have. Thanking him in a slightly confused manner, she went to her horse and soon was galloping homeward. All the way across the valley she kept hearing Offut's slow, quiet reassurance. There was something powerful in the man.

      Meanwhile, Lestrade had sauntered toward his office and busied himself with a sheaf of papers on the desk. Some time afterward the wizened-face ranch hand knocked at the open door and sidled in. He waited for Lestrade to raise his head and then spoke from the corner of his mouth, exactly as a long-term convict would have spoken.

      "Boss, I got an idea. Who can tell what friends of this Ballou might slip him? That gal might have given him a hacksaw or a gun."

      "Well?"

      "There's a

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