“Good old Jim!” murmured Connie gratefully as she saw the rider coming up the trail. “He’s saved our lives.”

Lefty hurried down the path to meet the man and help him with the horses.

“Everything all right?” asked Jim as he rode up. “I was worried when I found your ponies on the trail. I thought you knew how to tie a rope, Lefty.”

Ignoring the thrust, the cowboy asked quickly:

“Where did you find the hosses, Jim?”

“Down the trail about half a mile. Couldn’t figure how they all broke away.”

“They didn’t break loose,” Lefty answered grimly. “Someone untied ’em a-purpose. You didn’t see anyone on the trail?”

Jim Barrows shook his head.

“How did you happen to be over this way yourself?” Lefty asked curiously. “I thought you were wranglin’ steers for Blakeman today.”

Jim Barrow’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re not hintin’ I turned those horses loose——”

“Now don’t get touchy, Jim,” Lefty said quickly. “’Course I wasn’t hintin’ at anything like that. I just asked a civil question.”

“I came over this way today because I thought something might go wrong.”

“Your bones sort of told you?”

“Well, I had a feeling. And it turns out I was right.”

Lefty made no reply as he followed Jim up the trail, but he studied the man intently.

Connie had not heard the talk between the two cowboys. She greeted Jim warmly.

“What happened to you, Miss Connie?” he asked in astonishment, observing her bedraggled appearance.

“Oh, we had a little accident,” she answered vaguely. “We’re certainly grateful to you, Jim, for bringing our horses.”

The man dismounted and helped the school teachers into the saddle. Unnoticed by all save Connie, a blue bandanna handkerchief dropped from his pocket. She thought that he would pick it up, but after the other members of the party had started down the trail, he rode after them, leaving the handkerchief lying on the ground.

As Connie rode past the spot, she reached low and swept it up. She would not have given it a second glance save that it reminded her of the handkerchief which the masked bandit had worn the night he robbed her of her rodeo earnings.

There was nothing unusual about a blue bandanna, however, for many cowboys carried them. Yet as Connie folded the bit of cloth she noticed that two initials had been stamped in one corner. But they were not the letters which the girl might have expected to see.

“‘J. R.’,” she mused, “that doesn’t seem right. Jim’s last name doesn’t begin with an ‘R.’”

Connie carefully examined the letters again to make certain that she had not mistaken a “B” for an “R.”

“It’s an ‘R’ all right,” she decided. “Why should Jim be carrying a handkerchief marked like this unless he’s passing under an assumed name?”

Connie had intended to return the handkerchief to the man, but now she thrust it into her pocket, and when she rode alongside a few minutes later, made no mention of finding it.

The girl did not know what to think. It was possible, of course, that Jim had come into possession of another person’s handkerchief and was using it as his own. But that did not seem probable.

“Perhaps Blakeman was right about the man,” Connie reflected. “From the very first he believed that Jim had a past.”

Upon reaching the ranch, Cecil immediately inquired for his father. Learning that Mr. Grimes had not returned from the fishing trip, he disappeared to his room.

Connie changed her own clothing and then went to talk with Forest Blakeman. He had heard the story of the mishap from Helena, a version which strongly favored her brother.

“I take it you’re discharging Lefty?” the foreman inquired.

“No,” Connie replied, “he acted rashly, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. Cecil had the ducking coming to him.”

“If you’ll excuse me for saying it, you’re making a mess of this ranch,” Blakeman told her bluntly. “I was against this dude idea from the first, but since you brought guests here, I don’t believe in cooking up damage suits.”

“Cecil wasn’t hurt.”

“He may claim differently. Miss Connie, the best thing you can do is to sell this ranch before the bank takes it over.”

“I don’t know of anyone who would buy it.”

“If your price was right I might be able to find you a buyer,” Blakeman said quickly. “But you couldn’t expect any fancy figure.”

“Who is your prospect?”

“Well, I’m not at liberty to say. But if you’d take, say five thousand dollars, I think I could swing the deal. That would pay off your bank note and give you something clear.”

“This ranch is worth three times that amount at least,” Connie replied. “I’ll never sell unless I’m compelled to do it.”

“If you wait very long you’ll miss your chance,” Blakeman warned. “The bank may sell you out, and then you’ll get even less.”

Connie made no reply but turned away. She had seen Jim Barrows crossing the courtyard and wished to talk with him. The foreman followed her gaze.

“If you’d give me a free hand I’d send that fellow on his way,” he declared.

“What do you know about Jim Barrows?” Connie questioned, pausing again.

“I told you what I thought of him the other day. They’re saying in town that you’ve taken a fugitive from justice to shelter.”

“Who said a thing like that?” Connie asked sharply.

“Why, it’s common talk. If you weren’t so blind you could see for yourself that he’s not a square shooter.”

“You don’t really have any evidence against him?”

“I can’t prove that he’s wanted by the law—no. But I do know he’s no hand for us. Why, today, he was supposed to be wrangling steers, and he walked off from the job.”

“It was lucky for me that he did,” Connie said ruefully. “But I think I’ll have a talk with him.”

“Don’t expect him to break down and tell you his life history,” Blakeman said with a trace of sarcasm. “He won’t do it. The only thing I’d tell him would be to get out.”

Connie did not answer. After the foreman had gone to the barn she stood by the corrals lost in thought. She did not know what she could say to Jim Barrows. Perhaps she might return the handkerchief and ask him to explain the initials.

Connie had seen the man disappear into the bunk house and she knew that the other cowboys were busy elsewhere. This would be her opportunity to talk with him alone.

She walked slowly toward the bunk house, dreading the interview. The door was half ajar.

As Connie paused, hesitating to rap, she saw Jim Barrows move across the room. He had not heard her approach. There was something about his manner which struck Connie as odd. Instead of rapping on the door, she waited and watched.

Barrows glanced out the window toward the barn, and then he crossed over to a battered chest which stood near Blakeman’s bunk. The box belonged to the foreman, Connie knew, for she had heard Lefty joking about how Blakeman always kept his love letters locked in it.

To the girl’s amazement, Barrows took a handful of keys from his pocket. He selected one and fitted it into the lock.

Connie had seen quite enough. She pushed open the door of the bunk house.

Jim Barrows whirled about and his hand went instinctively to his hip pocket. Connie noted the gesture and her lips tightened.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” the man laughed, relaxing.

“You were afraid it was Blakeman,” Connie replied coldly. “Jim Barrows, may I ask what you are doing?”

“I guess you can see for yourself, Miss. I was trying to open this chest.”

“Forest Blakeman’s chest,” Connie supplied.

“I reckon you’re right.” Jim Barrows grinned arrogantly.

“Why were you trying to open his chest?”

“Well, I just had a sudden itch to find out what was inside. Prying into things is a weakness of mine.”

“It seems to be,” Connie answered scornfully. “Jim Barrows, there are a number of things which you might explain.”

She took the blue handkerchief from her pocket, offering it to him.

“You dropped this on the trail and I picked it up,” she told him. “Is it yours?”

“It must be if you saw me drop it,” he returned amiably.

“This may seem very amusing to you, but I don’t see anything funny about it,” Connie said, her anger rising. “This handkerchief happens to be marked with the initials ‘J. R.’ Perhaps you can explain that.”

The expression of the man’s face changed. He took the handkerchief from Connie, staring at the telltale markings.

“Barrows isn’t your real name, is it?” Connie demanded.

“No,” the man admitted after a long hesitation.

“Then tell me what it is.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’re wanted by the law!” Connie accused.

“Do I look like a criminal?” the man countered, a faint smile playing over his lips.

“I believe you’ve been acting a part ever since you came here!” Connie went on indignantly. “That day I found you on the trail—I don’t believe you were sick at all. You pretended you were broke and out of work, but I notice you have plenty of money now.”

“You are very observing,” the man replied very quickly.

“I’ve been very blind.”

“I’ll set your mind at rest upon one point. I am not a fugitive from the law.”

“Then why are you using a name other than your own?”

“I have a very good reason—one which I cannot reveal.”

“For all I know you may be the man who held me up at Eagle Pass,” Connie continued heatedly. “That’s what Blakeman tried to tell me——”

“Oh, so you’ve been listening to him?”

“By your own admission you have good reason not to use your true name.”

“And it is a good reason,” the man returned with emphasis. “Connie, I want you to promise that you’ll not say anything to Blakeman about this.”

“Why should I protect you? You’ve given me no explanation for trying to break into his chest. In fact——”

Connie’s voice trailed off for just at that moment Lefty appeared in the doorway. He looked quickly from one to the other. But he gave no indication that he had overheard the conversation.

“Connie,” he said significantly, “Mr. Grimes has been talking with Cecil. He wants to see you right away.”

“I’ll come,” said the girl wearily.

She faced Jim Barrows once more. “There are still several things I wish to say to you,” she told him gravely. “We’ll finish our conversation after I have seen Mr. Grimes.”