gnature to the relinquishment was genuine?"

"I'd take oath to it. As soon as he had gone I got out the original filing
and compared the two. Couldn't be any possible mistake. Nobody could have
forged the signature. It is like Luck himself, strong and forceful and
decided."

"We're not entirely surprised, Mr. Thomas," Lieutenant O'Connor told the
commissioner. "In point of fact we've rather been looking for something of
the kind."

"Then you know where Luck is?" Thomas, a sociable garrulous soul, leaned
forward eagerly.

"No, we don't. But we've a notion Fendrick knows." Bucky gave the
government appointee his most blandishing smile. "Of course we know _you_
won't talk about this, Mr. Thomas. Can we depend on your deputies?"

"I'll speak to them."

"We're much obliged to you. This clears up a point that was in doubt to
us. By the way, what was the date when the relinquishment was signed?"

"To-day."

"And who was the notary that witnessed it?"

"Dominguez. He's a partner of Fendrick in the sheep business."

"Quite a family affair, isn't it. Well, I'll let you know how things come
out, Mr. Thomas. You'll be interested to know. Have a cigar."

Bucky rose. "See you later, Curly. Sorry I have to hurry, Mr. Thomas, but
I've thought of something I'll have to do right away."

Bucky followed El Molino Street to the old plaza and cut across it to the
Hotel Wayland. After a sharp scrutiny of the lobby and a nod of
recognition to an acquaintance he sauntered to the desk and looked over
the register. There, among the arrivals of the day, was the entry he had
hoped to see.

Cass Fendrick, C. F. Ranch, Arizona.

The room that had been assigned to him was 212.

"Anything you want in particular, Lieutenant?" the clerk asked.

"No-o. Just looking to see who came in to-day."

He turned away and went up the stairs, ignoring the elevator. On the
second floor he found 212. In answer to his knock a voice said "Come in."
Opening the door, he stepped in, closed it behind him, and looked at the
man lying in his shirt sleeves on the bed.

"Evening, Cass."

Fendrick put down his newspaper but did not rise. "Evening, Bucky."

Their eyes held to each other with the level even gaze of men who
recognize a worthy antagonist.

"I've come to ask a question or two."

"Kick them out."

"First, I would like to know what you paid Luck Cullison for his Del Oro
claim."

"Thinking of buying me out?" was the iron