Angus entering the ranch house from the rear, was amazed to see Turkey with his wife and Jean. But when he learned of the runaway he took his brother's hand in a hard grip.

"Go easy!" Turkey objected, rescuing his crushed digits. "You've got no business letting her ride that cayuse. He's a new one on me."

"It wasn't Doughnuts," Faith exclaimed. "It was that new bay, but I won't do it again. But it was worth it to meet Turkey and bring him home. Now you boys have got to make up. Turkey, tell him what you told me."

Turkey told that and more. He told of the conversation he had overheard between Garland and Poole.

"Why, I blamed you for that ditch business," Angus said.

"I know you did—now; but I didn't know it that night when you came to my shack."

Turkey proceeded. He told of seeing Braden take the documents from French's safe, and of how he had obtained them.

Angus scanned the deeds which Faith handed him, and going to a desk in the corner found those which French had given Faith. He spread them on the table and the four bent above them. Faith caught her breath sharply.

"The description of the land is different!" she cried.

"Yes, it throws your land further west—all of it. According to this your west line would be about where we thought it was—where French originally told you it ran."

"Then—?"

"Then if these are the original deeds, you own the coal prospect that Braden is developing."

"If they are the originals the others must be forgeries."

"Yes. It's plain enough. The originals were made by Braden and witnessed by French. Somehow they found this coal and then they tried to buy you out. When you wouldn't sell but demanded your deeds, they prepared new ones, moving your block east and leaving out the coal lands. That was easy, because Braden owned land on either side of yours. All they had to do was to sign the new deeds themselves. Where they slipped up was in not destroying the originals. I don't understand that, unless French thought their possession would give him a hold on Braden if he didn't play fair with the coal. Braden should have destroyed them when he stole them from French."

"But what are we going to do about it?"

"I had better see Judge Riley."

"What's the matter with you and me and maybe Dave going up there and standing up the bunch and running them off?" Turkey suggested. "I'd like to hold a gun on Garland. I'm going to get him. That was a dirty trick—"

"We'll get him. But Braden's the man I'm after. I'll give him a taste of the law he's so fond of."

"I'm thinking of Kathleen," Faith interposed. "If Braden was a forger, so was her father."

"But you can't let that deprive you of a hill full of coal."

"No, I didn't mean that. But if there is any way in which it can be kept quiet please take it."

"That will depend on Braden," Angus replied. "Anyway, I'll see Judge Riley the first thing to-morrow."

In the morning they entered Judge Riley's office before the judge had lighted his first pipe. He listened to Turkey's story, puffing hard, occasionally rumpling his gray mane.

"I knew it," he said. "I knew that some time Braden would put his foot outside the law. Your potential law-breaker merely waits for an opportunity which he thinks is safe. Braden thought he was safe enough, and he is a pretty cautious individual. It is one thing to be morally sure that he committed forgery and another to prove it. Now, let's see what evidence we have to go on."

He spread out both sets of documents on his desk and studied them intently.

"Both," he observed after an interval, "are in my opinion actually signed by Braden and French—one as grantor and the other as witness. I know their signatures very well. The notarial certificate of execution is not material, because it is separate, and could easily have been detached from the originals and attached to the others."

"Your theory is that the deeds delivered by French to your wife were prepared recently. Let us see if we can find anything in the deeds themselves to corroborate that. They are on identical legal forms, and seem to have been written on the same machine, for the same letters show poor alignment, and the face of one, the small 'c' appears to have been injured. Let me see: I have some old letters of Braden's."

Rising he took down an old letter file and searched through it, finally removing a letter.

"This, like these deeds, is dated some seven years ago, and was written in Braden's office. It exhibits the same peculiarities of type."

"Well, wouldn't that show that both deeds were drawn seven years ago?" Angus deduced in disappointment, for so far the judge's words were not encouraging.

"Not as bad as that. It would show merely that both were prepared on a machine owned by Braden seven years ago. Here are other letters from him, written on another and presumably more modern machine. He may have the old one yet. It merely points to careful preparation—painstaking forgery. But Turkey, here, cannot testify positively that Braden was carrying a machine in the case that night, nor did he see him write anything on a machine. He cannot identify the machine that he did see."

"No," Turkey admitted.

"So that even if we found the old machine in Braden's possession, it would prove nothing," the judge went on. "Nor can you positively identify the documents you saw Braden abstract from French's safe?"

"No."

The judge rumpled his mane and reflected.

"The writing is slightly fainter in the deeds which we are trying to prove are the more recent. That might go to show either that they were written long ago, or recently with a dry or worn ribbon such as might well be in an old, discarded machine. But there is not enough difference to get us anywhere on that line. We can't depend on the testimony of Braden's stenographer, for it is too long ago. She would probably identify both as having been written on or about the dates which they bear, merely by the peculiarities of type of the machine she used then. Her evidence would probably be against us."

"But take the whole thing," Angus urged. "Take French's attempt to buy my wife out."

"Unfortunately, you have no evidence to connect Braden with that. He would deny all connection under oath, as he did to you. When you set out to prove a case out of the mouth of a hostile witness, you are embarking on a very doubtful enterprise. The fact is, Braden himself is the only witness, and there is nothing so far to contradict the evidence he will undoubtedly give if called."

"But how can he account for the existence of two sets of deeds?"

"I don't know," the judge replied, "but he will account for them. Don't underestimate him. He's a cunning fox. Suppose I put myself in his place. Assume that the documents delivered to your wife by French are forgeries. The originals I should have destroyed, but did not. They are stolen from my safe. I do not know who has them. I may suspect Garland, because of the disappearance of the other paper, but I am not sure. In any event I must provide against the possibility that they may be used against me. Now what story will hold water? What would be plausible?"

He drummed his spatulate fingers on his desk, his eyes half closed.

"My effort," he resumed after a moment's silence, "has been to duplicate the originals in every detail, to make it appear that the second were prepared some seven years ago. Then my explanation must be one which will naturally account for the preparation of two sets of deeds on or about the same date. And that can only be because there was some mistake in the first which rendered the preparation of the second necessary. Now, what is the most natural mistake, the most everyday, common mistake?"

He paused again.

"Misdescription!" he announced, "a misdescription of the property, a clerical error in that. And it's so profoundly simple! The instrument signed and witnessed carelessly, without comparison; then the discovery that the land was wrongly described, followed by the preparation of a second conveyance, and neglect to destroy the first, which of course is void both by error and lack of delivery. There you are! That's Braden's defense. And the devil of it is, that without evidence to contradict it it's perfectly good."

"Do you mean he gets away with it?" Turkey exclaimed.

"On the face of it he does," the judge replied, "but sometimes faces alter. No man can construct evidence without a weak spot somewhere. Leave these papers with me. I'll think the whole thing over again."

When his clients had gone he refilled his pipe and put his feet on his desk. He sat for an hour, motionless, his cold pipe between his teeth. Then once more he scrutinized the deeds carefully, looking at the faulty type. At last he held them to the light and peered at them. Then he brought his gnarled old fist down.

"By George!" he muttered, "it's a slim chance, and unprofessional as the devil, but it's about the only one I see. As matters stand, it would be folly to launch an action. 'Conscience makes cowards.' That's truer than most proverbs, and Braden's a rank coward at heart. I'll give him a few days to get really nervous, and then I'll try it. It may work—yes, it may work."