Garth Conway remained with them, their
voices coming in a low drone to the three women in the other part of
the house. The nervousness and anxiety of both Mrs. Leland and Julia
did not escape the sharp eyes of Helga Strawn.

"Hume is beginning his dirty work," she mused. "A trumped up charge of
some kind to get Shandon out of the way for a while."

"I got your message," MacKelvey told Hume half angrily. "And I got
busy because it's my sworn duty, not because I hankered after the job.
Your man in El Toyon swore out the warrant as you said he would. But
it looks damn' funny to me that if you fellows believe that Shandon
killed his brother you had to wait until now to say so. And you can
take my word for it I'd have taken my time about getting here if I
hadn't known that Mr. Leland was with you in the matter."

A little after noon, the sheriff with his men left for the Bar L-M.
Garth assured them that Wayne could hardly get away before the late
afternoon or the following morning, for the reason that when he left
the ranch there had been a number of things yet to do before the place
was closed up for the winter. MacKelvey and one of the men with him
went on webs; Hume and the other man on skis.

A hundred yards from the house they came upon Willie Dart. He had
travelled thus far on a pair of skis which he had found in the attic,
had struggled manfully but hopelessly to manage the narrow strips of
wood which pigeon toed and tripped him or interfered with each other
behind him, refusing the parallelism to which Mr. Dart strove wildly to
restrain them. He had fallen when they reached him and was standing to
his waist in the snow, his face red, the perspiration trickling down
his cheeks.

"Oho!" laughed Hume loudly. "So you were on your way to warn him, were
you?"

"You big boob, you!" shrieked Dart. "Get down and I'll shove your face
in for you!"

So they left him to struggle his way back to the house, Hume's laughter
booming back above the shrill imprecations of the little man. There
were tears, genuine tears in Willie Dart's eyes.

CHAPTER XXI

THE SHORT CUT

Wanda Leland, her lithe body bending gracefully and easily as she drove
her light skis over the glistening crust of the snow, shot down the
last long slope in a sort of ecstasy inspired by the exhiliration of
silent speed and the crisp brightness of the early afternoon. Stooping
forward a little she took the short leap across the three foo