the way it happened. You know Cullison was going to
prove up on that Del Oro claim on Thursday. That would have put the C. F.
ranch out of business. I knew he was in town and at the Del Mar, but I
didn't know where he would be next day. He had me beat. I couldn't see any
way out but to eat crow and offer a compromise. I hated it like hell, but
it was up to me to hunt Luck up and see what he would do. His hat gave me
an excuse to call. So I started out and came round the corner of San Mateo
Street just in time to see the robber pull out. Honest, the fellow did
shape up a little like Luck. Right then I got the darned fool notion of
mixing him up in it. I threw his hat down and shot a hole in it, then
unlocked the door of the express office carrying the hat in my hand.
That's all there was to it."

"Pretty low-down trick, wasn't it, to play on an innocent man?"

"He was figuring to do me up. I don't say it was exactly on the square,
but I was sore at him clear through. I wanted to get him into trouble. I
_had_ to do something to keep his mind busy till I could turn round and
think of a way out."

Bucky reflected, looking at the long ash on his cigar. "The man that made
the raid of the W. & S. shaped up like Luck, you say?"

"In a general way."

The ranger brushed the ash from the end of the cigar into the tray. Then
he looked quietly at Fendrick. "Who was the man, Cass?"

"I thought I told you----"

"You did. But you lied. It was a moonlight night. And there's an arc light
at that corner. By your own story, the fellow took his mask off as he
swung to his horse. You saw his face just as distinctly as I see yours
now."

"No, I reckon not," Fendrick grinned.

"Meaning you won't tell?"

"That's not how I put it, Bucky. You're the one that says I recognized
him. Come to think of it, I'm not sure the fellow didn't wear his mask
till he was out of sight."

"I am."

"You are."

"Yes. The mask was found just outside the office where the man dropped it
before he got into the saddle."

"So?"

"That's not all. Curly and I found something else, too--the old shirt from
which the cloth was cut."

The sheepman swept him with one of his side-long, tiger-cat glances.
"Where did you find it?"

"In a barrel back of the Jack of Hearts."

"Now, if you only knew who put it there," suggested Cass, with ironic
hopefulness.

"It happens I do. I have a witness who saw a man shove that old shirt down
in the barrel after te