"Europe, I believe."

"When did she go?"

"About three months ago."

"Any other relatives?"

"Not that I know of."

"H'm," I pondered. "What does she look like?"

"She's about medium height, dark, good figure, good-looking all right.
She's got eyes wide apart and a wide forehead. That's the best I can do.
Why?"

"Anybody heard from her since she went to Europe?"

"How should I know?" rejoined Brower, impatiently. "What you driving
at?"

"I think I've seen her. I believe she's not in Europe at all. I believe
she's a prisoner at the ranch."

"My aunt!" ejaculated Brower. His nervousness was increasing--the
symptoms I was to recognize so well. "Why the hell don't you just shoot
him from behind a bush? I'll do it, if you won't."

"He's too smooth for that." And I told him what Hooper had told me. "His
hold on these Mexicans is remarkable. I don't doubt that fifty of the