In the meantime, the locomotive lantern had been lit so that the interior of the courtyard was thrown into brilliant light.  Needless to say the opening blown in the walls did not face toward the water corrals.  Of Artie Brower and the Morgan stallion we found hardly a trace.  They had been literally blown to pieces.  Not one of us who had known him but felt in his heart a kindly sorrow for the strange little man.  The sentry who had fired at him and who had thus, indirectly, precipitated the catastrophe, was especially downcast.

“I told him to stop, and he kep’ right on a-going, so I shot at him,” he explained.  “What else was I to do?  How was I to know he didn’t belong to that gang?  He acted like it.”

But when you think of it how could it have come out better?  Poor, weak, vice-ridden, likeable little beggar, what could the future have held for him?  And it is probable that his death saved many lives.

The prisoners were brought in—­some forty of them, for Old Man Hooper maintained only the home ranch and all his cow hands as well as his personal bravos were gathered here.  Buck Johnson separated apart seven of them, and ordered the others into the stables under guard.

“Bad hombres, all of them,” he observed to Jed Parker.  “We’ll just nat’rally ship them across the line very pronto.  But these seven are worse than bad hombres.  We’ll have to see about them.”

But neither Andreas, Ramon, nor Old Man Hooper himself were among those present.

“Maybe they slipped out through our guards; but I doubt it,” said Buck.  “I believe we’ve identified that peevish lot by the water troughs.”

The firing went on quite briskly for a while; then slackened, and finally died to an occasioned burst, mainly from our own side.  Under our leader’s direction the men fed their horses and made themselves comfortable.  I was summoned to the living quarters to explain on the spot the events that had gone before.  Here we examined more carefully and in detail the various documents—­the extraordinary directions to Ramon; the list of prospective victims to be offered at the tomb, so to speak, of Old Man Hooper; and the copy of the agreement between Emory and Hooper.  The latter, as I had surmised, stated in so many words that it superceded and nullified an old partnership agreement.  This started us on a further search which was at last rewarded by the discovery of that original partnership.  It contained, again as I had surmised, the not-uncommon clause that in case of the death of one or the other of the partners without direct heirs the common property should revert to the other.  I felt very stuck on myself for a good guesser.  The only trouble was that the original of the second agreement was lacking:  we had only a copy, and of course without signatures.  It will be remembered that Brower said he had deposited it with a third party, and that third party was to us unknown.  We could not even guess in what city he lived.  Of course we could advertise.  But Windy Bill who—­leaning his long figure against the wall—­had been listening in silence—­a pretty fair young miracle in itself—­had a good idea, which was the real miracle, in my estimation.