unless I breaks her open. So I just naturally horned in and
played the hand myself."

CHAPTER XII

When daylight fully disclosed the wreck, and also his night watchman
lying helpless out of harm's way, Farwell was in a savage temper. Never
before, in all his career, had anything like that been put over on him.
And the knowledge that he had been sent there for the express purpose
of preventing anything of the kind did not improve matters. He hated to
put the news on the wire--to admit to headquarters that the ranchers
apparently had caught him napping. But, having dispatched his telegram,
he set his energies to finding some clew to the perpetrators of the
outrage.

He drew a large and hopeless blank in Kelly, the watchman. Mr. Kelly's
films ran smoothly up to a certain point, after which they were not
even a blur. The Stygian darkness of his hiatus refused to lift by
questioning. He had neither seen nor heard anything suspicious or out
of the ordinary. About one o'clock in the morning he had laid down his
pipe to rest his long-suffering tongue. Immediately afterward, so far
as his recollection went, he found himself tied up, half smothered,
with aching jaws and a dull pain in his head.

Farwell metaphorically bade this unsatisfactory witness stand aside,
and proceeded to investigate the gunny sack, the rope that had tied
him, and the rag and stick that had gagged him. Whatever information
these might have given to M. Lecoq, S. Holmes, or W. Burns, they
yielded none to Farwell, who next inspected the ground. Here, also, he
found nothing. There were footmarks in plenty, but he could not read
them. Though in the first flare of the explosion he had glimpsed three
or four running figures, his eyes had been too dazzled to receive an
accurate impression.

"Maybe an Australian nigger or a Mohave trailer could work this out,"
he said in disgust to his assistant, Keeler. "I can't."

"Well, say," said young Keeler, "talking about Indians--how about old
Simon over there? Might try him."

He pointed. Just above the dam an Indian sat on a pinto pony, gazing
stolidly at the wreck. His hair streaked with gray, was braided, and
fell below his shoulders on either side. His costume was that of
ordinary civilization, save for a pair of new, tight moccasins. Having
apparently all the time there was, he had been a frequent spectator of
operations, squatting by the hour watching the work. Occasionally his
interest had been rew