“Thought you wouldn’t.  It’s a case of circumstantial evidence.  Brent was found in that cactus forest near the station.  The same night two men rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable.  These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing.  Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street.  One of them—­and this is the queer part of it—­got away after shooting his pardner.  The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreled about money—­”

“That’s about all they know.  Ed and me never—­”

“You don’t mean Ed Brevoort, do you?”

“There’s more ’n one Ed in this country.”

“There sure is.  Old E.H.  Hodges—­he’s Ed; and there’s Ed Smally on the force here, and Ed Cummings, the preacher over to Sanborn.  Lots of Eds.  See here, son.  If you want to get out of a bad hole, the quickest way is for you to tell a straight story.  Save us both time.  Been visiting with you quite a spell.”

“Reckon we’re here,” said Pete as the cab stopped.

“And I reckon you’re glad of it.  As I was saying, we been having quite a visit—­getting acquainted.  Now if you haven’t done anything the law can hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the better it will be for you.  Think that over.  If you can prove you didn’t kill Brent, then it’s up to me to find out who did.  Get a good sleep.  I’ll drift round sometime to-morrow.”

Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of the little bank-book in his pocket.  He wondered who would stop him if he were to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, and leave town.  He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting a recurrent temptation to make his escape.

He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand.  “That’s the only fella that kin stop me,” he told himself.  And he thought of Ed Brevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need of money.

Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glanced at Pete’s flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took his pulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes the busy physician.  “A little temperature.  Been out today?”

“For a couple of hours.”

Andover nodded.  “Well, young man, you get right into bed.”

The surgeon closed the door.  Pete undressed grumblingly.

“Now turn over.  I want to look at your back.  M-mm!  Thought so.  A little feverish.  Did you walk much?”

“Nope!  We took a rig.  I was with the sheriff.”

“I see!  Excitement was a little too much for you.  You’ll have to go slow for a few days.”

“I’m feelin’ all right,” asserted Pete.

“You think you are.  How’s your appetite?”

“I ain’t hungry.”

Andover nodded.  “You’d better keep off your feet to-morrow.”