“I see,” said Bob.

“You’ll have to go up and look the ground over, that’s all.  Do what you think best.  Here are all the papers in the matter.  You can look them over at your leisure.”

Bob tucked the bundle of papers in his cantinas, or pommel bags, and left the office.  Amy was rattling the stove in her open-air kitchen, shaking down the ashes preparatory to the fire.  Bob stopped to look across at her trim, full figure in its starched blue, immaculate as always.

“Hullo, Colonel!” he called.  “How are the legions of darkness and ignorance standing the cannonading these days?  Funny paper any new jokes?”

This last was in reference to Amy’s habit of reading the Congressional Record in search of speeches or legislation affecting the forests.  Bob stoutly maintained, and nobody but Amy disputed him, that she was the only living woman, in or out of captivity, known to read that series of documents.

Amy shook her head, without looking up.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bob solicitously.  “Nothing wrong with the Hero, nor any of the Assistant Heroes?”

Thus in their banter were designated the President, and such senators as stood behind his policies of conservation.

“Then the villains must have been saying a few triumphant ha! has!” pursued Bob, referring to Fulton, Clark, Heyburn and the rest of the senatorial representatives of the anti-conservationists.  “Or is it merely the stove?  Let me help.”

Amy stood upright, and thrust back her hair.

“Please don’t,” said she.  “I don’t feel like joking to-day.”

“It is something!” cried Bob.  “I do beg your pardon; I didn’t realize ... you know I’d like to help, if it’s anything I can do.”

“It is nothing to do with any of us,” said Amy, seating herself for a moment, and letting her hands fall in her lap.  “It’s just some news that made me feel sorry.  Ware came up with the mail a little while ago, and he tells us that George Pollock has suddenly reappeared and is living down at his own place.”

“They’ve arrested him!” cried Bob.

“Not yet; but they will.  The sheriff has been notified.  Of course, his friends warned him in time; but he won’t go.  Says he intends to stay.”

“Then he’ll go to jail.”

“And to prison.  What chance has a poor fellow like that without money or influence?  All he has is his denial.”

“Then he denies?” asked Bob eagerly.

“Says he knows nothing about Plant’s killing.  His wife died that same morning, and he went away because he could not stand it.  That’s his story; but the evidence is strong against him, poor fellow.”

“Do you believe him?” asked Bob.

Amy swung her foot, pondering.

“No,” she said at last.  “I believe he killed Plant; and I believe he did right!  Plant killed his wife and child, and took away all his property.  That’s what it amounted to.”