was a
plain gold ring set with a large turquoise.

"You must remember that ring," said the father. Mead nodded. Colonel
Whittaker slipped it from the finger, dried and burned by the sun, and
showed the four men the initials, "W. W.," on the inside. The clothing
was badly tattered and much of it had been torn away. Part of a pongee
silk shirt still hung on the body. On the inside of the collar were
the young man's initials worked in red silk. "His mother did that,"
said Colonel Whittaker. Around the neck was a dark-colored scarf, and
in it was an odd, noticeable pin, a gold nugget of curious shape. The
four men had all seen Will Whittaker wear it many times. A ragged
remnant of a coat hung on the mangled body. In the breast pocket
Colonel Whittaker showed them some letters and a small memorandum
book. From the book had been torn some leaves and all the remaining
pages were blank. But on the inside of the leather cover the name,
"Will Whittaker," had been printed in heavy black letters. Rain and
sun had almost obliterated the addresses on the two envelopes in the
pocket, but enough of the letters could still be made out to show what
the words had probably been.

Halliday turned the body over and showed them three bullet holes in
the back, in the left shoulder blade. They were so close together that
their ragged edges touched one another, and a silver dollar would have
covered all of them. Apparently, the man had been shot at close range
and the bullets had gone through to the heart.

Mead finished his inspection of the body and turned to Halliday. All
the rest of the party had come up and dismounted and were standing
beside their horses around the grisly, mangled thing and the four men
who were examining it. Several of the men were wounded and blood was
dripping over their clothing. A red mark across Tuttle's cheek showed
how narrow had been his escape, and a bloody stain on Mead's shirt
told the story of a flesh wound.

"Jim," Mead began, and then paused, looking Halliday squarely in the
eyes, while his own friends and the sheriff's party edged closer, all
listening breathlessly. None of them had any idea what he was going to
say, whether it would be surrender, or defiance and a declaration of
continued war. Nick and Tom exchanged glances and cocked their
revolvers, which they held down beside their legs. "Jim," Mead went
on, "I acknowledge nothing about this body except that, as far as I
can see, it seems to be the