We found one hoss, the prisoner’s. An’ Segel packed the dead boy in on his saddle. All the way in I was debatin’ on hangin’ the murderer. An’ when I got to it, this side of Twin Sombreros Ranch, Inskip crowded in front of us an’ gave the cowboy a chance to grab his two guns. We got held up pronto an’ drove into town. An’ I’m fer arrestin’ Inskip—”

“When Surface called you back, what did he say?” interrupted Kiskadden.

“What?” queried Bodkin. “Surface halted you at his ranch, then followed you an’ stopped you. He drew you out of hearin’ of yore men. This court is powerful interested in what Surface said.”

“Wal—sir,” exploded the deputy, his visage turning yellow, “he advised hangin’ the cowboy right then an’ thar. Said he distrusted this office.”

“Thet will do, Bodkin,” said the sheriff. “Doctor Williamson, will you please step forward an’ make yore report.”

A stout middle-aged man approached the desk.

“Mister Sheriff,” he began, “and gentlemen. My fellow practitioner and I find that young Neece came to his violent death not later than the middle of the afternoon of day before yesterday. Death was caused by a compound fracture of the skull with consequent concussion of the brain. The bullet hole in his back was made long after he was dead. He had been roped and jerked heavily to the ground, probably from a horse.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” replied the sheriff. “Now, gentlemen, let me read you a telegram received heah this mawnin’. It is dated Latimer, Colorado, an’ it reads: ‘Sheriff Steve Kiskadden, Las Animas. The letter addressed to Brazos Keene was delivered to him in person at eight-ten o’clock day before yesterday morning, May fifth. Signed, Postmaster John Hilton.”

“Brazos Keene!” ejaculated Bodkin. A murmur ran through the standing crowd. But it was certain that Raine Surface had never heard the name.

“Yes, Brazos Keene,” drawled the Texas sheriff. “Gentlemen, you all know thet Latimer is a long way from Las Animas. Much too far for the hardest of hard-ridin’ cowboys to get to the Hill cabin in the afternoon—an’ murder an’ rob young Neece. The letter Keene has in his possession absolutely clears him of any implication whatever in this tragedy. It was physically impossible for Keene to be there!”

Kiskadden silenced the uproar that followed. “I’m returning your gun, Brazos,” he drawled, “and offerin’ my apologies.” He turned toward his white-faced deputy. “As my last official act, Bodkin, I’m firin’ yu! An’ then I’m resignin’ as sheriff of this county!”

Kiskadden took off his star and laid it on the desk, and then, arm in arm with Brazos, shouldered his way through the crowd.

Brazos saw a familiar face appear before him. “Hank Bilyen!”

The old man put out his hand enthusiastically. “Say, Brazos, but you’re sure a sight for these old eyes! An’ I’ve got somethin’ to tell you that’ll sure make you want to stay right here and get to work.”

“Uh-huh. Well, suppose we go rob the bank first.