owner of the Circle C had vanished from the sight of men. The evidence
showed he had not reached the hotel, for a cattle buyer had been waiting
there to talk with him. His testimony, as well as that of the hotel clerk,
was positive.

Could this little store, the Jack of Hearts, be the central point of the
mystery? In his search for information Curly had already been in it, had
bought a cigar, and had stopped to talk with Mrs. Wylie, the proprietor.
She was a washed-out little woman who had once been pretty. Habitually she
wore a depressed, hopeless look, the air of pathetic timidity that comes
to some women who have found life too hard for them. It had been easy to
alarm her. His first question had evidently set her heart a-flutter, but
Flandrau had reassured her cheerfully. She had protested with absurd
earnestness that she had seen nothing of Mr. Cullison. A single glance had
been enough to dismiss her from any possible suspicion.

Now Curly stepped in a second time. The frightened gaze of Mrs. Wylie
fastened upon him instantly. He observed that her hand moved instinctively
to her heart. Beyond question she was in fear. A flash of light clarified
his mind. She was a conspirator, but an unwilling one. Possibly she might
be the author of the anonymous warnings sent Bolt.

The young _vaquero_ subscribed for a magazine and paid her the money.
Tremblingly she filled out the receipt. He glanced at the slip and handed
it back.

"Just write below the signature 'of the Jack of Hearts,' so that I'll
remember where I paid the money if the magazine doesn't come," he
suggested.

She did so, and Curly put the receipt in his pocket carelessly. He
sauntered leisurely to the hotel, but as soon as he could get into a
telephone booth his listlessness vanished. Maloney had returned to town
and he telephoned him to get Mackenzie at once and watch the Jack of
Hearts in front and rear. Before he left the booth Curly had compared the
writing of Mrs. Wylie with that on the sheet that had come by special
delivery. The loop of the J's, the shape of the K's, the formation of the
capital H in both cases were alike. So too was the general lack of
character common to both, the peculiar hesitating drag of the letters.
Beyond question the same person had written both.

Certainly Mrs. Wylie was not warning the sheriff against herself. Then
against whom? He must know her antecedents, and at once. There was no time
for him to mole them out himsel