"----there now," she concluded. "What do you think of that for a put-up job? Why, it's not even clever."

"No," agreed Sally Jane. "Too many articles belonging to Bill. Either the quirt or the hatband, but not both. I'd like to know how they got hold of them."

"They?"

"Or he. It may have been one man, and it may have been more than one.

You can't tell. Tip had enemies--several. But I'm afraid the gang won't take that into consideration,--much. All they'll be able to see is the quirt and the hatband. And on top of what's happened already!

Confound it, Bill shouldn't have disappeared this way. All his friends know he didn't--couldn't have either held up the stage or really rustled Sam Larder's precious horse, which, by the way, was found mud to the ears near Sam's corral this morning. Fact, Dad told me. But why didn't Bill stay and face the music? That's what I'd like to know.

He should have known he'd only hurt himself by running off this way.

That's where he made one big mistake."

At which Hazel jumped right off the table. Her black eyes snapped.

"He didn't make any mistake!" she cried. "He did just right! I know he did. If he ran--went away--he had a good reason and you can't tell me different, Sally Jane Prescott!"

The older girl threw out a hand in mock alarm. "There, there, honey, calm down. I didn't mean anything against your precious Bill. Not a thing."

"He's not my precious Bill," denied Hazel with vigor. "He's just a good fuf-friend."

Sally Jane looked at her shrewdly. "What makes you think your--friend didn't make a mistake in going away?"

"Because he couldn't make a mistake if he tried. That's why." Oh, the defiance in the voice of Hazel.

"Heavens above, child! Men are only human beings and human beings make mistakes. Bill's a man, and he's liable to make mistakes like any other one of them."

"Not Bill," Hazel contradicted flatly. "He--he's different. He----"

Alarums and excursions without--the gallop of several horses, shouts of men, the jingle and stamp of riders dismounting at the door. Entered then Felix Craft and Sam Larder with drawn guns, in their rear the district attorney, likewise with weapon displayed.

"Whose horse is that?" Craft demanded, fixing Hazel with a baleful eye.

"If you mean the one tied to the wagon," replied Hazel, "it belongs to Sally Jane Prescott."

"What of it?" demanded Sally Jane, appraising the trio with a cool glance.

"Visitors in my kitchen take off their hats," reminded Hazel severely.

The three men sheepishly removed their hats and sheathed their firearms.

"That's better," said Hazel. "You don't know how silly you looked, rushing in here brandishing your guns that way. I was quite frightened for a minute." Here she giggled and winked at Sally Jane.

"We thought maybe Bill Wingo was here," said Craft.

"And what made you think Bill Wingo was here?" asked Hazel.

"That horse outside," he replied, watching her shrewdly. "Do you mind if I search the house?"

"I certain do mind!" cried Hazel. "You dare search this house! Just you try it!"

"I'll bet the man's here," struck in the district attorney, pushing to the front. "Good thing we surrounded the house first. If you've got Bill Wingo hidden anywhere, you give him up, do you hear, Hazel?"

"Miss Walton to you, do you hear, Rale?"

He eyed her a moment venomously.

"Gettin' particular, ain't you?" he sneered. "Any one would think--"

His tongue ceased suddenly to wag as she dipped the floor brush in the dirty water of the bucket and drew back her arm.

"Yes?" prompted Hazel, her eyes beginning to glitter with a dangerous light.

"Nothing," capitulated the district attorney and tried to smile. "I was thinking of a joke I heard last night, Miss Walton."

"That's better," approved Hazel.

"Look here," said the district attorney, "if Bill Wingo ain't here, what did you go to town for to-day and buy all those supplies?"

Genuine astonishment showed on Hazel's countenance. "Those supplies were my regular supplies. Don't you suppose I buy something to eat once in a while?"

"Queer you should have come in and got that stuff the day after Tip O'Gorman was murdered."

"We figure," said Sam Larder, "that Bill Wingo will have to eat right along, and that unless he's left the country, it's natural he'll get his supplies from his friends, and we know that you drove in town and bought supplies this morning."

"Well, I've told you who I bought 'em for," snapped Hazel. "Anything else?"

"There is," said the district attorney smoothly. "We're going to search the house."

"You won't take my word that Bill Wingo isn't here?" demanded Hazel.

"In a matter like this we can't," replied the district attorney.

"One moment," murmured Hazel, stepping back.

The next instant she had jerked her Winchester off the hooks and c.o.c.ked the hammer. "Now," she resumed, holding the weapon level with her belt, "now go ahead and search the house."

The district attorney, with a haste that was ludicrous, slid behind the fat bulk of Sam Larder. Even Felix Craft smiled.

"She's bluffing," declared the district attorney. "I'll go out and get the marshal."

He departed hurriedly, to return almost immediately with Red Herring.

The latter, sheepish as to the face and with shambling legs, advanced into the room. The district attorney pointed dramatically at Hazel.

"Arrest her," he directed.

"Huh?" remarked the marshal, eyeing Hazel's artillery.

"Arrest her, I said. To threaten with a deadly weapon is a statutory offense."

"Well, I dunno," balked the marshal.