instantly. "No, I don't reckon they've dry-gulched him or anything.
Emerson Crawford is one sure-enough husky citizen. He couldn't either be
shot or rough-housed in town without some one hearin' the noise. What's
more, it wouldn't be their play to injure him, but to force a
relinquishment."

"That's true. You believe that, don't you?" Joyce cried eagerly.

"Sure I do." And Dave discovered that his argument or his hopes had for
the moment convinced him. "Now the question is, what's to be done?"

"Yes," she admitted, and the tremor of the lips told him that she
depended upon him to work out the problem. His heart swelled with glad
pride at the thought.

"That man who jus' passed is my friend," he told her. "He's trailin' that
duck Shorty. Like as not we'll find out what's stirrin'."

"I'll go with you," the girl said, vivid lips parted in anticipation.

"No, you go home. This is a man's job. Soon as I find out anything I'll
let you know."

"You'll come, no matter what time o' night it is," she pleaded.

"Yes," he promised.

Her firm little hand rested a moment in his brown palm. "I'm depending on
you," she murmured in a whisper lifted to a low wail by a stress of
emotion.