e attendant drew the
curtain behind him the officer let his smile take on a new meaning.

"What did I tell you, Scott?"

"Prove it," defied Scott. "Prove it--you can't prove it."

"What can't I prove?"

"Why, that I was in that--" Scott stopped abruptly, and watched the
smile broaden on the strong face opposite him. His dull brain had come
to his rescue none too soon.

"Now, ain't it funny how people's thoughts get to running on the same
thing? Last time I met up with you there you was collecting a hundred
dollars and keep-the-change cents from me, and now here you are spending
it. It's ce'tinly curious how both of us are remembering that little
seance in the Pullman car."

Scott took refuge in a dogged silence. He was sweating fear.

"Yes, sir. It comes up right vivid before me. There was you a-trainin'
your guns on me--"

"I wasn't," broke in Scott, falling into the trap.

"That's right. How come I to make such a mistake? Of cou'se you carried
the sack and York Neil held the guns."

The man cursed quietly, and relapsed into silence.

"Always buy your clothes in pairs?"

The sheriff's voice showed only a pleasant interest, but the outlaw's
frightened eyes were puzzled at this sudden turn.

"Wearing a bandanna same color and pattern as you did the night of our
jamboree on the Limited, I see. That's mightily careless of you, ain't
it?"

Instinctively a shaking hand clutched at the kerchief. "It don't cut any
ice because a hold-up wears a mask made out of stuff like this."

"Did I say it was a mask he wore?" the gentle voice quizzed.

Scott, beads of perspiration on his forehead, collapsed as to his
defense. He fell back sullenly to his first position: "You can't prove
anything."

"Can't I?" The sheriff's smile went out like a snuffed candle. Eyes
and mouth were cold and hard as chiseled marble. He leaned forward far
across the table, a confident, dominating assurance painted on his face.
"Can't I? Don't you bank on that. I can prove all I need to, and your
friends will prove the rest. They'll be falling all over themselves to
tell what they know--and Mr. Dailey will be holding the sack again, while
Leroy and the rest are slipping out."

The outlaw sprang to his feet, white to the lips.

"It's a damned lie. Leroy would never--" He stopped, again just in time
to bite back the confession hovering on his lips. But he had told what
Collins wanted to know.

The curtain parted, and a figure darkened th