Johnny had immediate cause to regret his melodramatic words.

“Give me his name! Tell me who he was!” the old man shouted.

And obviously Johnny could not answer truthfully. He pondered lie after lie without finding one to pass muster. Kent saw his helplessness.

“You can’t answer, eh? Well, maybe you can tell me what you’re doin’ here in this room.”

“Tony and I came to git our stuff,” Johnny replied.

“Your stuff? It ain’t in here, is it?”

“I had a little present for Miss Molly. I wanted to leave it where she’d git it. I reckoned I’d not be seein’ her again, soon.”

“Present?” Old Jackson’s lips curled contemptuously. “I’ll bring all the presents she needs. You been treated most like one of the family round here, so you show your gratitude by shinin’ up to my girl, eh?”

“You know that ain’t so,” Johnny answered miserably. “Hobe and me has been bringin’ her little things nigh ten years.”

“She was a child then. And you carryin’ her picture around. I won’t have it! Damn it, I won’t! My girl ain’t intended for no forty-dollar-a-month cowpunch. I want that picture.”

Johnny shook his head. Less angry than he had been, he said:

“I can’t give it to you. If Molly says she wants it, all right. I’ll give it to her. Ain’t no talk goin’ to make me change my mind about that.”

“She’ll tell you quick enough.” Kent raised his voice to cry out her name.

“No good doin’ that,” Johnny advised. “She ain’t here.”

“I’ll find out whether she is or not. You git your stuff now. Take your presents with you, too.”

Johnny had never been dismissed in this fashion. Tight-lipped, cheeks burning, he shook his head. “No,” he muttered, “I’d not do that.”

“Well, I’ll take care of it, then.”

And he caught up the harmonica and hurled it through the open window. “You git your stuff,” he thundered.

The lust to tear this old man’s body with his hands surged in Johnny Dice. And yet, Molly was his daughter! The thought struck Johnny with a double significance. Jackson Kent had identified the dead man’s treasured keepsake. But why had that man carried Molly Kent’s photograph? Questions began stabbing at Johnny’s brain.

Molly had had nothing to do with the man’s death. Hobe had given the old man an alibi. But there was a draw to this affair which could not be argued into nothingness. Molly was mysteriously away from home; Jackson here when he had left for Winnemucca, and always that picture of the girl in the dead man’s wallet to be explained.

In a sort of daze Johnny got his blankets and other gear and placed them upon his saddle.

Kent had roused Charlie Sam and set him to ringing the ranch-house bell. Only little Hughie answered the bell’s imperative summons.

“Where’s Molly?” the girl’s father demanded.

“Now, that’s a hard question to answer,” Hughie replied. “Never a word did she say to me. She got her horse herself this mornin’. ’Twa’n’t later than eight when she rode off. Charlie, here, must have talked to her.”

“No talk,” squint-eyed Charlie Sam declared. “Me pack lunch. She damn big hurry.”

“One of you must have seen whicha-way she went.”

“Left here headin’ for Argenta,” Hughie exclaimed. “I was over there last night for the mail. Brought a letter for her. Mayhap she’s ridden out with the answer.”

“She ain’t been in Argenta,” Kent said positively. “I—got off there myself, and borrowed a horse from Matt Pease. I’d ’a’ passed her on the road if she’d been headin’ there.”

Argenta is a flag station half-way between Standing Rock and Winnemucca. The old man could easily enough have done as he claimed. But where could Molly have gone? If she had gone south, she must have come to the railroad. Surely she would not have bothered with lunch had she set out for Argenta or any neighboring ranch.

Beyond question she had not gone to Standing Rock or else Johnny and Tony would have passed her. That left only Winnemucca as a possible destination. Hughie’s observation that she had been “all dressed up” only added to Johnny’s conviction that he would find her there. But why had she left without leaving a note for her father? And why the long ride when she might have caught a train at Argenta or Standing Rock? Wasn’t it plain that she hoped to go unquestioned? But what had she to conceal? Could the letter which Hughie had brought be the answer?

Johnny glanced at the old man, who was pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself. His concern for his girl swept away some of the boy’s angry feelings. Old tyrant that he was, no one could deny his love for Molly.

“She shouldn’t do these fool things,” Johnny heard him say. “Runnin’ off without a word! She’s only a girl; only a child.” He stopped to catch Johnny’s eye. “You come in here a minute,” he ordered.

Tony sighed impatiently as Johnny and the old man went inside.

When the two men reached the office Kent shot his demand at the boy without a second’s delay:

“I want that picture!”

“I told you I’d give it to Molly if she won’t let me keep it. That’s my answer. I never knew till an hour ago what she meant to me. I’m tellin’ you fair, now, that I’m takin’ my orders from her.”

“Well, you’re armed, and so is the Basque, but I’ll have my say before very long. You stay ’way from my daughter. You’re a fool if you’re countin’ on puttin’ her between us. She’s my girl! Keep your picture! She’ll be askin’ for it quick enough. Don’t let me hear that you’re showin’ it round, makin’ talk. By God, there won’t be room enough in this State for you if you do.”

“Your opinion of me does credit to you, don’t it?” the boy snapped back. “Funny you didn’t find me out long ago.”

“You keep your back talk,” Kent roared. “Where you goin’ when you leave here?”

Johnny smiled enigmatically.

“That’s a fair question. I’ll ask you one, and we’ll be even-Stephen. When you left Standing Rock this mornin’ you told Hobe you were off for Winnemuc. I’d admire to know what made you change your mind.”

“What do you mean?” gasped the old man. “My comin’s and goin’s are my own business. Are you hintin’ at somethin’?

“No, I ain’t hintin’. But I’m doin’ some tall thinkin’.”

“You can give it a name if you’re half a man.”

Johnny turned away sadly.

“I guess I don’t measure up,” he said slowly. “And, besides, I’d hate to give tongue to it. But I’ll say this much”—and he wheeled on old Kent again—“I’ll answer your first question. I’m goin’ and goin’ when I leave here. And I’m goin’ to keep on movin’ till I find out who killed that man in Standing Rock. Till I do, my address is in my hat. I know you’ve got the low-down on me. Well, let it ride. No matter what you think, I shoot square. You’re rich, you’ve got big friends; I know what you can do to me. Hop to it! But don’t you ever forgit that while I live I love your daughter. And if I ever amount to anythin’, and she’ll have me, I’ll come back and marry her. And you can please go to hell!”