“You seem to have been cultivating your powers of observation,” Flora told him.  “But I’m more disposed to consider the matter from Helen’s point of view.  As it happens, she’s a friend of mine and I’ve reasons for believing that your partner’s readily susceptible and inclined to be fickle.  Of course, I’m not jealous.”

George laughed.

“He’s too venturesome now and then, but he has been a little spoiled.  I’ve an idea that this affair is likely to be permanent.  He has shown a keen interest in the price of land and the finances of farming, which struck me as having its meaning.”

They had now nearly reached the bluff and a horseman in khaki uniform rode out of it to meet them.

“I’ve been over to your place,” he said to George, when he had dismounted.  “I was sent to show you a photograph and ask if you can recognize anybody in it?”

He untied a packet and George studied the picture handed him.  It showed the rutted main street of a little western town, with the sunlight on a row of wooden buildings.  In the distance a band of cattle were being driven forward by two mounted men; nearer at hand a few wagons stood outside a livery stable; and in the foreground three or four figures occupied the veranda of a frame hotel.  The ease of their attitudes suggested that they did not know they were being photographed, and their faces were distinct.  George looked triumphantly excited and unhesitatingly laid a finger on one face.

“This is the man that drove off Mr. Grant’s Percheron and stabbed my horse.”

The trooper produced a thin piece of card and a small reading-glass.

“Take another look through this; it came along with the photograph.  Now, would you be willing to swear to him?”

“I’ll be glad to do so, if I have the chance.  Shall I put a mark against the fellow?”

“Not on that!” The trooper handed George the card, which proved to be a carefully drawn key-plan of the photograph, with the figures outlined.  “You can mark this one.”

George did as he was told, and then handed the photograph to Flora.

“How did your people get it?” he asked the trooper.

“I can’t say; they don’t go into explanations.”

“But what do you think?  Did Flett take the photograph?”

“No, sir; I heard him tell the sergeant he knew nothing about a camera.  He may have got somebody to take it or may have bought the thing.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I only know he got special orders after Mr. Grant was robbed.  It’s my idea he was somewhere around when the photograph was taken.”

“I wonder where it was taken?  In Alberta, perhaps, though I’m inclined to think it was on the other side of the frontier.”

“That is my opinion,” said Flora.  “There’s not a great difference between us and our neighbors, but the dress of the mounted men and the style of the stores are somehow American.  I’d say Montana, or perhaps Dakota.”