“His brother from the East inherited it,” said the storekeeper.  “He came and sold out, lock, stock and barrel.  Not that there was much.  A few cattle and horses, and the stuff in the ranch house, which wasn’t valuable.  There were a lot of books, and the brother gave them for a library, but we haven’t any building.  The railroad isn’t built this far yet, and unless we get oil here it won’t be.”

“The brother inherited it, eh?  Do you know the brother’s name?”

“David, I think.  He was a doctor back East somewhere.”

“Then this Henry Livingstone wasn’t married?  Or at least had no children?”

“He wasn’t married.  He was a sort of hermit.  He’d been dead two days before any one knew it.  My wife went out when they found him and got him ready for the funeral.  He was buried before the brother got here.”  He glanced at Bassett shrewdly.  “The place has been prospected for oil, and there’s a dry hole on the next ranch.  I tell my wife nature’s like the railroad.  It quit before it got this far.”

Bassett’s last scruple had fled.  The story was there, ready for the gathering.  So ready, indeed, that he was almost suspicious of his luck.

And that conviction, that things were coming too easy, persisted through his interview with the storekeeper’s wife, in the small house behind the store.  She was a talkative woman, eager to discuss the one drama in a drab life, and she showed no curiosity as to the reason for his question.

“Henry Livingstone!” she said.  “Well, I should say so.  I went out right away when we got the word he was dead, and there I stayed until it was all over.  I guess I know as much about him as any one around here does, for I had to go over his papers to find out who his people were.”

The papers, it seemed, had not been very interesting; canceled checks and receipted bills, and a large bundle of letters, all of them from a brother named David and a sister who signed herself Lucy.  There had been a sealed one, too, addressed to David Livingstone, and to be opened after his death.  She had had her husband wire to “David” and he had come out, too late for the funeral.

“Do you remember when that was?”

“Let me see.  Henry Livingstone died about a month before the murder at the Clark ranch.  We date most things around here from that time.”

“How long did ‘David’ stay?” Bassett had tried to keep his tone carefully conversational, but he saw that it was not necessary.  She was glad of a chance to talk.

“Well, I’d say about three or four weeks.  He hadn’t seen his brother for years, and I guess there was no love lost.  He sold everything as quick as he could, and went back East.”  She glanced at the clock.  “My husband will be in soon for dinner.  I’d be glad to have you stay and take a meal with us.”

The reporter thanked her and declined.

“It’s an interesting story,” he said.  “I didn’t tell your husband, for I wasn’t sure I was on the right trail.  But the David and Lucy business eliminates this man.  There’s a piece of property waiting in the East for a Henry Livingstone who came to this state in the 80’s, or for his heirs.  You can say positively that this man was not married?”