Although feeling the need of food, Westcott entered the dining-room of the Timmons' House more desirous of being alone than for any other purpose. He realised that he was suddenly brought face to face with a most serious condition, and one which must be solved unaided. He dare not venture upon a single step forward until he had first thought out carefully the entire course to be followed. Two lives, and perhaps three, including his own, were now in imminent peril, and any mistake on his part would prove most disastrous. First of all he must keep his own counsel. Not even the half-drunken Timmons could be allowed to suspect the real depth of his interest in this affair.

Fortunately, it was so late in the morning he was left undisturbed at a side table, screened from the open door leading into the office. Sadie, the waitress, took his order and immediately disappeared, leaving him to his own thoughts. These were far from happy ones, as his mind rapidly reviewed the situation and endeavoured to concentrate upon some practical plan of action.

So Bill Lacy expected him? Had left word where he was to be found? What was the probable meaning of this? Westcott did not connect this message directly with the strange disappearance of Miss Donovan. Whether or not Lacy was concerned in that outrage had nothing to do with this, for the man could scarcely be aware of his deep interest in the girl. No, this must be his own personal affair, complicated by the case of Cavendish. Moore must have recognised him during their fight, and reported to his master who it was that had been discovered listening at the window. Realising the nature of that conversation, Lacy naturally anticipated being sought the very moment Westcott came to town. That was what this meant. All right, he would hunt Lacy as soon as he was ready to do so; and, as Timmons suggested, would go "heeled."

But the girl? What had really become of the girl? There was no way of proving she had not gone East, for there was no agent at the station at that hour, and the night train could be halted by any one waving a signal light. Westcott drew the brief note from his pocket, smoothed out its creases and read the few words over again. The writing was unquestionably feminine, and he could recall seeing nothing Miss Donovan had ever indited, with which it could be compared. But would she have departed, however hurriedly, without leaving him some message? To be sure there had been little enough between them of intimacy or understanding; nothing he could really construe into a promise—yet he had given her complete trust, and had felt a friendly response. He could not compel himself to believe she would prove unfaithful. Unconsciously he still held the letter in his hand when the waitress came in with his breakfast. She glanced about to make certain they were alone and leaned over, her lips close to his ear.

"Is that the note they say that New York young lady left?"

"Yes, Sadie," in surprise. "Why?"

"Well, she never wrote it, Mr. Westcott," hurriedly placing the dishes before him, "that's all. Now don't yer say a word to anybody that I told yer; but she didn't go East at all; she wus took in a wagon down the desert road. I saw 'em take her."

"You saw them? Who?"

"Well, I don't just know that, 'cept it was Matt Moore's team, an' he wus drivin' it. I didn't see the others so es to be sure. Yer see us help sleep over the kitchen, an' 'bout one o'clock I woke up—here comes Timmons; he mustn't see me talkin' ter yer."

She flicked her napkin over the table, picked up an emptied dish and vanished through the swinging-doors. Timmons, however, merely came in searching for the Chinaman, and not finding the latter immediately, retired again to the office, without even addressing his guest, who was busily eating. Sadie peered in once more and, seeing all was clear, crossed over beside Westcott.

"Well, as I was sayin'," she resumed, "I thought I heard a noise outside, an' got up an' went to the winder. I couldn't see much, not 'nough so I could swear to nuthin'; but there was three or four men out there just across that little gully, you know, an' they had a woman with 'em. She didn't scream none, but she was tryin' ter git away; wunst she run, but they caught her. I didn't see no wagon then, it was behind the ridge, I reckon. After a while it drove off down the south trail, an' a little later three men come up them outside stairs back into the hotel. They was mighty still 'bout it, too."

"You couldn't tell who they were?"

"They wa'n't like nuthin' but shadders; it was a purty dark night."

"So it was, Sadie. Do you imagine Timmons had anything to do with the affair?"

"Timmons? Not him. There wa'n't no figure like his in that bunch; I'd know him in the dark."

"But the woman might not have been Miss Donovan; isn't there another young lady here from the East?"

Sadie tossed her head, but with her eyes cautiously fixed on the office door.

"Humph; you mean the peroxid blonde! She ain't no lady. Well, it wa'n't her, that's a cinch; she was down yere to breakfast, a laughin' an' gigglin' with them two men 'bout an hour ago. They seemed ter feel mighty good over something but I couldn't quite make out just what the joke was. Say, did yer ever hear tell of a Mexican named Mendez?"

"Well, rather; he's a cattle thief, or worse. Arizona has a big reward out for him, dead or alive."

"That's the gink, I bet yer; has he got a hang-out anywhar 'round this country?"

"Not so far as I know; in fact, I haven't heard the fellow's name mentioned for six months, or more. What makes you suspect this?"

Sadie leaned even closer, her voice trembling with excitement, evidently convinced that her information was of the utmost importance.

"For God's sake, Mr. Westcott," she whispered, "don't never tell anybody I told yer, but she was awful good ter me, an' that pasty-faced blonde makes me sick just ter look at her. You know the feller they call Enright, I reckon he's a lawyer."

Westcott nodded.

"Well, he was doin' most of the talkin', an' I was foolin' round the sideboard yonder, pretendin' ter clean it up. Nobody thought I was in ear distance, but I got hold ov a word now an' then. He kept tellin' 'em, 'specially the blonde, 'bout this Mexican, who's a friend of Bill Lacy, an' I judge has a place whar he hangs out with his gang somewhar in the big desert."

"Was anything said about Miss Donovan?"

"Not by name; they was too smart for that; but that was the direction Matt Moore drove off last night—there's Enright comin' down-stairs now; won't yer hav' some more cakes, sir?"

Westcott pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He had extracted all the information the girl possessed, and had no wish to expose her to suspicion. There was no longer a doubt in his mind as to the fate of Miss Donovan. She had been forcibly abducted by this gang of thieves, and put where her knowledge could do them no harm. But where? The clue had been given him, but before it could be of any value he must learn more of this Mexican, Mendez. The name itself was familiar enough, for it was one often spoken along the border in connection with crime, but beyond this meant nothing to him. The fellow had always appeared a rather mythical character, but now became suddenly real. The marshal might know; if not, then he must choke the truth out of Lacy. Determined to make the effort, he muttered a swift word of thanks to Sadie and left the room.

Enright was not in the office, but had evidently merely passed through and gone out. Timmons was sound asleep in a chair by the window, oblivious to any ordinary noise. From the open doorway Westcott took careful survey Of the street, adjusting his belt so that the butt of his revolver was more convenient to the hand. He had no conception that his coming interview with Lacy was to be altogether a pleasant one, and realised fully the danger confronting him.

Very few of the citizens of Haskell were abroad, although a small group were ornamenting the platform in front of Healey's saloon opposite. At that moment the little marshal, his broad-brimmed hat cocked over one eye, emerged from the narrow alleyway between the Red Dog and the adjacent dance-hall, and stood there doubtfully, his gaze wandering up and down the deserted street. As Westcott descended the hotel-steps, the marshal saw him, and came forward. His manner was prompt and businesslike.

"Hello, Jim," he said rather briskly, "I was sorter lookin' 'round fer yer; somebody said yer hoss was up at the stable. Had a little trouble up your way last night, I hear."

"Nothing to bother you, Dan; my Mexican watchman was shot up through a window of the shack."

"Kill him?"

"Instantly; I told the coroner all about it. Whoever the fellow was I reckon he meant the shot for me, but poor JosÉ got it."

"Yer didn't glimpse the critter?"

"No, it was long after dark. I've got my suspicions, but they'll keep.
Seen Bill Lacy this morning?"

The marshal's thin lips smiled grimly as his eyes lifted to Westcott's face.

"He's back there in his office. That's what I stopped yer for. He said he rather expected ye'd be along after awhile. What's up between yer, Jim? Not this Mexican shootin' scrape?"

"Not unless he mentions it, Dan, although I reckon he might be able to guess how it happened. Just now I've got some other things to talk about—he's cutting into my vein."

"The hell he is!"

"Sure; I got proof of it last night. He's running a cross channel. I was down his shaft."

"I heard he's knocked off work; discharged his men."

"Yes, but only to give him time in which to pull off some other deviltry. That gave me opportunity to learn just what was being done. I slipped into the workings after the gang had left, and now I've blocked his game. Say, Dan, what do you know about that Mexican, Mendez?"

"Nuthin' good. I never put eyes on the fellow. Some claim he's got a place where he hides, out thar in the Shoshone desert, but I never got hold of anybody yet as really knew."

"There is such a man, then?"

"Sure. Why he an' his gang had a pitched battle down on Rattlesnake 'bout six months ago; killed three of the sheriff's posse, an' got away. Seemed like the whole outfit naturally dropped inter the earth. Never saw hide ner hair of 'em afterward."

"I've heard that he and Bill Lacy were in cahoots."

"Likely enough; ain't much Lacy ain't into. He's been sellin' a pile of cattle over at Taylorsville lately, an' likely most of 'em was stole. But hell! What can I do? Besides, that's the sheriff's job, ain't it? What yer goin' in to see him about, Jim?"

"Only to ask a few questions."

"There ain't goin' ter be no fight er nuthin'?" anxiously.

Westcott laughed.

"I don't see any cause for any," he answered. "But Bill might be a bit touchy. Maybe, Dan, it might be worth while for you to hang around. Do as you please about that."

He turned away and went up the wooden steps to the door of the Red Dog. The marshal's eyes followed him solicitously until he disappeared within; then he slipped back into the alleyway, skirting the side of the building, until he reached a window near the rear.

Westcott closed the door behind him and took a swift view of the barroom. There were not many present at that hour—only a few habitual loafers, mostly playing cards; a porter was sweeping up sawdust and a single bartender was industriously swabbing the bar with a towel. Westcott recognised most of the faces with a slight feeling of relief. Neither Enright nor Beaton were present, and it was his desire to meet Lacy alone, away from the influence of these others. He crossed over to the bar.

"Where's Bill?" he asked.

"Back there," and the dispenser of drinks inclined his head toward a door at the rear. "Go on in."

The fellow's manner was civil enough, yet Westcott's teeth set with a feeling that he was about to face an emergency. Yet there was no other way; he must make Lacy talk. He walked straight to the door, opened it, stepped into the room beyond, and turned the key in the lock, dropping it into his pocket. Then he faced about. He was not alone with Lacy; Enright sat beside the desk of the other and was staring at him in startled surprise. Westcott also had a hazy impression that there was or had been another person. The saloon-keeper rose to his feet, angry, and thrown completely off his guard by Westcott's unexpected action.

"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded hotly. "Why did you lock the door?"

"Naturally, to keep you in here until I am through with you," returned the miner coldly. "Sit down, Lacy; we've got a few things to talk over. You left word for me at the hotel, and, being a polite man, I accepted your invitation. I supposed I would find you alone."

Lacy sank back into his chair, endeavouring to smile.

"This gentleman is a friend of mine," he explained. "Whatever you care to say can be said before him."

"I am quite well aware of that and also that he is now present so that you may use him as a witness in case anything goes wrong. This is once you have got in bad, Mr. Patrick Enright, of New York."

The lawyer's face whitened, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair.

"You—you know me?"

"By reputation only," and Westcott bowed, "but that is scarcely to your credit. I know this, however, that for various reasons you possess no desire to advertise your presence in Haskell. It would be rather a difficult matter to explain back in the city just what you were doing out here in such intimate association with a chorus girl and a Bowery gunman, let alone our immaculate friend, Lacy, yonder. The courts, I believe, have not yet distributed the Cavendish money."

Enright's mouth was open, but no sound came from his lips; he seemed to be gasping for breath.

"I merely mention this," went on Westcott slowly, "to help you grasp the situation. We have a rough, rude way of handling such matters out here. Now Lacy and I have got a little affair to settle between us and, being a fair-minded man, he sent for me to talk it over. However, he realises that an argument of that nature might easily become personal and that if anything unpleasant occurred he would require a witness. So he arranges to have you present. Do you see the point, Mr. Enright?"

The lawyer's eyes sought Lacy, and then returned to the stern face confronting him. His lips sputtered:

"As—as a witness?"

"Sure; there may be honour among thieves, but not Lacy's kind." He strode forward and with one hand crunched Enright back into his chair. "Now, listen to me," he said fiercely. "I've got only one word of advice for you: don't take any hand in this affair, except as a peacemaker, for if you do, you are going to get hurt. Now, Bill Lacy, I'm ready to talk with you. I was down in your shaft last night."

The saloonman lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair.

"I ought to have thought of that, Westcott," he admitted. "Still, I don't know that I give a damn."

"The work hadn't been left in very good shape, and I found the cross tunnel and measured it. You are within a few feet of my vein. The county surveyor ought to have been out there two hours ago."

Lacy straightened up, all semblance of indifference gone, an oath on his lips.

"You cur! You filed complaint? When?"

"At seven o'clock this morning. We'll fight that out in the courts. However, that isn't what I came here for at all. I came to ask you a question and one of you two are going to answer before I leave—keep your hand up, and in sight, Lacy; make another move like that and it's liable to be your last. I am not here in any playful mood, and I know your style. Lay that gun on the desk where I can see it—that's right. Now move your chair back."

Lacy did this with no good grace, his face purple with passion. Westcott had been too quick, too thoroughly prepared for him, but he would watch his opportunity. He could afford to wait, knowing the cards he had up his sleeve.

"Some considerable gun-play just to ask a question," he said tauntingly, "must be mighty important. All right, what is it?"

"Where did your man Moore take Miss Donovan last night?"