ter just a note about some ranch
business? Then why else should any one come at night and prowl all
through the house, and never take anything? Why had he come that first
night?

Jean drew in her breath sharply. All at once, like a flashlight turned
upon a dark corner of her mind, she remembered something about that
night. She remembered how she had told her Uncle Carl that she meant
to prove that her dad was innocent; that she meant to investigate the
devious process by which the Lazy A ranch and all the stock had ceased
to belong to her or her father; that she meant to adopt sly,
sleuth-like methods; she remembered the very words which she had used.
She remembered how bitter her uncle had become. Had she frightened
him, somehow, with her bold declaration that she would not "let
sleeping dogs lie" any longer? Had he remembered the letter, and been
uneasy because of what was in it? But what COULD be in it, if it were
written at least a day before the terrible thing had happened?

She remembered her uncle's uncontrolled fury that evening when she had
ridden over to see Lite. What had she said to cause it? She tried to
recall her words, and finally she did remember saying something about
proving that her own money had been paying for her "keep" for three
years. Then he had gone into that rage, and she had not at the time
seen any connection between her words and his raving anger. But
perhaps there was a connection. Perhaps--

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed aloud. She was remembering the
telegram which she had sent him just before she left Los Angeles for
Nogales. "He'll just simply go WILD when he gets that wire!" She
recalled now how he had insisted all along that Art Osgood knew
absolutely nothing about the murder; she recalled also, with an uncanny
sort of vividness, Art's manner when he had admitted for the second
time that the letter had been from Carl. She remembered how he had
changed when he found that her father was being punished for the crime.

She did not know, just yet, how all these tangled facts were going to
work out. She had not yet come to the final question that she would
presently be asking herself. She felt sure that her uncle knew
more,--a great deal more,--about Johnny Croft's death than he had
appeared to know; but she had not yet reached the point to which her
reasonings inevitably would bring her; perhaps her mind was
subconsciously delaying the ultimate conclusion.

She