d start something," replied Polly, in an injured tone.

Bud smiled in spite of his fears. Catching the girl in his arms, he
kissed her, and said: "I was a-waitin' for the chance."

Polly disengaged herself from his embrace, and sighed contentedly.
"That's something like it. What's the use of bein' engaged to a feller
if you can't have all the trimmin's that goes with it. You look as if
you wasn't too happy."

Bud pulled himself together with an effort. He realized that if he did
not show more interest in the girl and the wedding he might be
suspected of connection with the murder.

He trumped up an explanation of his moodiness. "Well, what call have I
to be happy? Ain't I lost my job?"

"Yes, but that's because you were hot-headed, gave your boss too much
lip. But everything will come out all right. Jack says--"

"Has that low-down liar an' thief been comin' it over you, Polly? Did
he tell you how he gave the place he promised me to Sage-brush?"

"That wasn't until you gave him slack, Bud. I'm sure he ain't a thief;
why--"

"Thief, of course he is, an' a blacker-hearted one than the man that
killed Terrill. Ain't he going to steal my brother Dick's girl this
very night?"

"But Dick is dead," expostulated Polly.

"Dick ain't dead; I know it--that is," he stammered, "I feel it in my
bones he ain't dead. An' Jack feels it, too; that's why he's hurried up
this weddin'."

"But your own friend, Buck McKee, saw Dick just before the 'Paches
killed him."

"But not after it. An' Buck now thinks the Rurales may have come up in
time to save him."

"Seems to me if that's so he has had time enough since then to write,"
objected Polly, who was, nevertheless, impressed by Bud's vehemence.

"How do you know that he has not written?"

Polly could only gasp. These accusations were coming too fast for her
to answer.

"You can't tell what a man might do in a case like that. Perhaps
Dick's 'way in the mountains, away from the railroad, prospectin' down
in the Ghost Range, where he has been tryin' to locate the lost lode.
There's lots of reasons for his not writing to Echo. But Echo doesn't
seem to mind. A year an' a half is enough to mend any woman's heart."

"Now, you--" began Polly, who was growing angry under the charges which
were being heaped on her two best friends by the overwrought boy.

Bud would not let her finish, but cried: "Echo never loved him. If she
did she would not be acting like she is