ole matter was in
the air just now, Ettinger saw nothing better to do than accept the tip
which Big Bill gave him. A similar message went to Helga Strawn.

May came in, radiant and glowing, and men from many miles away visited
the Bar L-M to look over the course upon which the race meet was to be
held. MacKelvey spent weary days and nights driving his relentless
quest; Sledge Hume seemed sullenly idle; Helga Strawn coolly
Indifferent to the world about her; and still Wayne Shandon received no
encouraging word from Brisbane. May ran through half its allotted days
of thaw and bursting seeds; the day for the race was less than a month
away, and still Shandon clung to his solitudes, wondering, beginning to
doubt.

And then one day he had a visitor.

It was after sunset. He had been out all day, upon the higher table
land where he had set rudely constructed traps for rabbits. He had
returned in the early dusk, finding his way down the fissure from the
rocks above to his cave. And as he made his fire and began the
preparations for his evening meal, he heard a very discreet cough at
the entrance of the cave.

The cough was repeated, and then there entered the cavern a portly,
pleasant looking gentleman with a scrubbing brush moustache.

"Howdy-do, Mr. Shandon?" he said genially, removing his hat to mop his
moist forehead and then coming closer to extend his hand. "I was
passing and thought I'd drop in."

Shandon who had been squatting by the fire got to his feet and stared.

"Well?" he demanded sharply. He fully expected to hear other voices in
a moment, MacKelvey's voice, perhaps Sledge Hume's.

"My card," smiled the genial gentleman pleasantly. "One of my various
cards, rather." He extended it, adding, "I thought I'd run in and
bring you a handful of cigars. You must be in sad need of them, eh?"

The card explained that its owner was Mr. Edward Kinsell. The name
meant nothing to Shandon and he said so bluntly.

"To be sure," acknowledged Mr. Kinsell. He extended the other hand
with the cigars, took a stool by the fire, crossed his knees and added
drily, "I've been on the lay, though, for pretty close to six months.
Great chap, Brisbane, isn't he? By the way here is a note from him."

The note, dated several months earlier, simply stated that Edward
Kinsell could be depended upon to do all that any man could in the
matter of gathering up the evidence he was being paid by Shandon to
get. Shandon's e