Wright turned black in the face. Verily, if he had worn a gun he would
have pulled it on me. As it was, Miss Sampson's interference probably
prevented more words, if no worse.

"Don't quarrel," she said. "George, you go with Russ. Please hurry. I'll
be nervous till the rustler's found or you're sure there's not one."

We started with several cowboys to ransack the house. We went through
the rooms, searching, calling out, flashing our lanterns in dark places.

It struck me forcibly that Wright did all the calling. He hurried, too,
tried to keep in the lead. I wondered if he knew his voice would be
recognized by the hiding man.

Be that as it might, it was I who peered into a dark corner, and then
with a cocked gun leveled I said: "Come out!"

He came forth into the flare of lanterns, a tall, slim, dark-faced
youth, wearing dark sombrero, blouse and trousers. I collared him before
any of the others could move, and I held the gun close enough to make
him shrink.

But he did not impress me as being frightened just then; nevertheless,
he had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over
a shock. He peered into my face, then into that of the cowboy next to
me, then into Wright's and if ever in my life I beheld relief I saw it
then.

That was all I needed to know, but I meant to find out more if I could.