ot just a hobo!"

"Oh, I didn't mean to call you a scoundrel! Nor yet to say that you
struck me as mannish. Of course----"

"Oh, you make me sick!" cried Terry. And she flashed away from him,
going into the lunch-room.

He followed her with speculative eyes. Then he glanced across the
street. Blenham had dismounted in front of the Ace of Diamonds and was
watching. As Packard turned Blenham went into Hodges's saloon.

"Wonder what he'll have to say when Hodges hands him his roll?" mused
Packard.

Well, he had accomplished his purpose. He had done all that he had
hoped to do in Red Creek this afternoon, had assured himself that his
suspicions against Blenham were justified by the fact and that the
theft was only a week old. He went back slowly to his horse in front
of the Old Trusty. But his eyes were frowning thoughtfully.

What would be Blenham's next move? What would Blenham do, what would
he say when Hodges gave him Packard's message? Might he, in an
unguarded moment, give a hint toward the answer of that other question
which now had become the only consideration: "Were the larger banknotes
still hidden at Ranch Number Ten or had Blenham already removed them?"

Instead of mounting to ride away, Packard hung his spurs upon his
saddlehorn and turned again into Whitey Wimble's place.

The late afternoon faded into dusk, the first stars came out, Whitey
Wimble lighted his lamps. Steve, advised of the fact by the purr of a
motor, knew when Terry left the lunch-room and drove to the store for a
visit with the storekeeper's wife. Was she going to remain in town
overnight? It began to look as though she were.

Across the street Hodges came out and lighted the big lamps at each
side of his doorway. A cowboy swung down from his horse and went in,
his spurs winking in the lamplight as though there were jewels upon
them. A buckboard pulled up and two other men went in after him. A
voice in sudden laughter boomed out. Saturday night had come. As
Whitey Wimble had predicted, the boys were showing up and Red Creek
stood ready to lose something of its brooding afternoon quiet.

Once again Packard crossed the bridge and made his way along the
echoing wooden sidewalk to the Ace of Diamonds. A dozen saddle-horses
were tied at the hitching-rail. Among them was Blenham's white-footed
bay. Up and down the street glowing cigarette ends like fireflies came
and went. In front of the saloon a number of men mad