“No kick coming here.  But, if it’s just the same to you, I’ll ask you to get the proof first and hang me afterward.”

“If you’re homesteading, where’s your place?”

“Back in the hills, close to the headwaters of Salt Creek.”

“Huh!  You’ll make that good before I get through with you.  And I want to tell you this, too, Mr. Keller.  It doesn’t make any hit with me that you’re one of those thieving nesters.  Moreover, there’s another charge against you.  In the Malpais country we hang rustlers.  The boys claim to have you cinched.  We’ll see.”

“Who’s that with Curly?” Pesky called out.  “By Moses, it’s a woman!”

“It is the Sanderson girl,” Weaver said in surprise.

Keller swung round as if worked by a spring.  The cow-puncher had told the truth.  Curly’s companion was not only a woman, but the woman—­the same slim, tanned creature who had flashed past him on a wild race for safety, only a few minutes earlier.

All eyes were focused upon her.  Weaver waited for her to speak.  Instead, Curly took up the word.  He was smiling broadly, quite unaware of the mine he was firing.

“I found this young lady up on the rock rim.  Since we were rounding up, I thought I’d bring her down.”

“Good enough.  Miss Sanderson, you’ve been where you could see if anyone passed into the canon.  How about it?  Anybody go up in last ten minutes?”

Phyllis moistened her dry lips and looked at the prisoner.  “No,” she answered reluctantly.

Weaver wheeled on Keller, his eyes hard as jade.  “That ties the rope round your neck, my man.”

“No,” Phyllis cried.  “He didn’t do it.”

The cattleman’s stone wall eyes were on her now.

“Didn’t?  How do you know he didn’t?”

“Because I—­I passed him here as I rode up a few minutes ago.”

“So you rode up a few minutes ago.”  Buck’s lids narrowed.  “And he was here, was he?  Ever meet Mr. Keller before?”

“Yes.”

“When?  Speak up.  Mind, no lying.”

This, struck the first spark of spirit from her.  The deep eyes flashed.  “I’m not in the habit of lying, sir.”

“Then answer my question.”

“I’ve met him at the office when he came for his mail.  And the boys arrested him by mistake for a rustler.  I saw him when they brought him in.”

“By mistake.  How do you know it was by mistake?”

“It was I accused him.  But I did it because I was angry at him.”

“You accused an innocent man of rustling because you were sore at him.  You’re ce’tainly a pleasant young lady, Miss Sanderson.”

Her look flashed defiance at him, but she said nothing.  In her slim erectness was a touch of feminine ferocity that gave him another idea.

“So you just rode into the canon, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Meet up with anybody in the valley before you came in?”