"I don't know," said Billy. "But I intend to find out."
"That's the trick," chipped in Dawson. "In cases like this it pays to
dig into the innards of everything you don't understand. You're almost
sure to find out somethin'."
"Maybe friend Simon can tell us somethin'," Billy said. "Let's go.
It'll be sunrise in two hours."
Simon Reelfoot, riding the range that day, met a horseman who said he
was strayman for the Wagonwheel outfit north of the West Fork. Did
Simon know where Park Valley was? Simon knew, and gave the strayman
minute directions.
"Shucks," said the strayman, "I can't carry all that in my head.
Here's a envelope and a pencil. Make a li'l map like, will you?"
Simon was not an adept with the pencil. To use either it or a pen
required the most perfect concentration and his tongue in his cheek.
Wondering greatly at the strayman's claimed inability to remember a few
simple landmarks, Simon took the pencil and envelope and bent over his
saddle horn.
"Here," he said, after three minutes' work, holding out the envelope,
"This ought to fix you up."
To this horror, the well-known voice of Billy Wingo at his back
concurred readily. "It ought to," said Billy Wingo. "We're obliged to
you, Simon. Kindly clasp your hands over your hat."
The envelope and pencil fell to the ground as Simon obeyed. The
strayman dismounted and picked them up.
"You oughtn't to have given him that envelope," Billy admonished the
strayman. "It has the confession in it. You got to be more careful."
"I will," said the strayman humbly, and tucked the envelope into his
pocket.
Simon stirred uneasily on his saddle. Confession! Whose confession?
He recalled that there had been several folded sheets of paper in the
envelope. Of course, Simon could not know that these sheets were
white,--innocent of either handwriting or printing. But Simon's
conscience was a helpful little thing. And Simon's mind was prone to
jump at conclusions.
"I'll just take your gun, Simon," murmured Billy. "I don't think you'd
do anything reckless, but you might. Slide off easy. That's it. You
look kind of bewildered, Simon. Don't know how I got here, do you?
Easy, like eatin' pie. While you were hard at work with your pencil,
Guerilla and I were tippytoeing out of that stand of timber behind us a
ways. You shouldn't be so trusting of strangers, feller. _Keep your
paws up_! Just because I've felt you all over and haven't found an
extra gun or knife doesn't signify you can do as you please. You stand
right still and steady. Johnny, let's have that envelope. My friend
will watch you, Simon, while I glance over this."
Billy took the envelope, fingered out the sheets of paper and unfolded
them. His lip moved as he solemnly looked them over. It was apparent
to Reelfoot that he was refreshing his memory.
"Simon," Billy said, glancing up suddenly, "why did Conley go South?"