are L. C."

Billie felt himself flushing. "What makes you think that, Nick?"

Bolt walked to a cupboard and unlocked it. His back was toward the
cattleman, but the latter could see him take something from a shelf.
Turning quickly, the sheriff tossed a hat upon the table.

"Ever see this before?"

Mac picked it up. His fingers were not quite steady, for a great dread
drenched his heart like a rush of icy water. Upon that gray felt hat with
the pinched crown was stamped the individuality--and the initials--of Luck
Cullison.

"Don't know as I recognize it," he lied, not very readily. "Not to know
it. Why?"

"Thought perhaps you might know it. The hold-up dropped it while getting
away."

Mackenzie's eyes flinched. "Dropped it. How was that?"

"A man happened to come along San Miguel street just as the robber swung
to his horse. He heard the cries of the men inside, guessed what was
doing, and exchanged shots with the miscreant. He shot this hat off the
fellow's head."

"The _Sentinel_ didn't tell any such a story."

"I didn't give that detail to the editor."

"Who was the man that shot the robber?"

"Cass Fendrick."

"But he didn't claim to recognize the hold-up?" Mackenzie forced himself
to ask this in spite of his fears.

"Not for certain."

"Then he--he had a guess."

"Yes, Mac. He guessed a man whose initials are the same as those in that
hat."

"Who do you mean, Nick?"

"I don't need to tell you that. You know who."

"If you mean Luck Cullison, it's a damned lie," exploded the cattleman. He
was furious with himself, for he felt now that he had been unsuspectingly
helping to certify the suspicions of the sheriff. Like an idiot, he had
let out much that told heavily against his friend.

"I hope so."

"Cass Fendrick is not on good terms with him. We all know that. Luck has
got him in a hole. I wouldn't put it a bit above Cass to lie if he thought
it would hurt Luck. Tell you it's a damned conspiracy. Man, can't you see
that?"

"What about this hat, with the two holes shot through the rim?"

"Sho! We all wear hats just like that. Look at mine." Billie held it out
eagerly.

"Has yours an L. C. stamped in the sweat band?" Bolt asked with a smile.

"I know you ain't his friend, Nick. But you want to be fair to him even if
he did oppose your election." Mackenzie laid an appealing hand on the knee
of the man seated opposite him.

"I'm sheriff of Papago County. It doesn't make any difference w