The following morning Pablo saddled Panchito for Kay and, at her request, followed her, in the capacity of groom, to Bill Conway’s camp at Agua Caliente basin.  The old schemer was standing in the door of his rough temporary office when Kay rode up; he advanced to meet her.

“Well, young lady,” he greeted her, “what’s on your mind this morning in addition to that sassy little hat.”

“A number of things.  I want to know what really happened to Mr. Farrel yesterday forenoon.”

“My dear girl!  Why do you consult me?”

She leaned from her horse and lowered her voice.  “Because I’m your partner and between partners there should be no secrets.”

“Well, we’re supposed to keep it a secret, just to save you and your mother from worrying, but I’ll tell you in confidence if you promise not to tell a soul I told you.”

“I promise.”

“Well, then, that scoundrel, Okada, sent a Jap over from La Questa valley to assassinate Miguel and clear the way for your father to acquire this ranch without further legal action and thus enable their interrupted land deal to be consummated.”

“My father was not a party to that—­oh, Mr. Conway, surely you do not suspect for a moment—­”

“Tish!  Tush!  Of course not.  That’s why Miguel wanted it given out that his horse had policed him.  Wanted to save you the resultant embarrassment.”

“The poor dear!  And this wretch from La Questa shot him?”

“Almost.”

“What became of the assassin?”

Bill Conway pursed his tobacco-stained lips and whistled a few bars of “Listen to the Mocking Bird.”  Subconsciously the words of the song came to Kay’s mind.

  She’s sleeping in the valley,
  In the valley,
  She’s sleeping in the valley,
  And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.

“I’m afraid I don’t want to discuss that boy and his future movements, Miss Parker,” he sighed presently.  “I might compromise a third party.  In the event of a show-down I do not wish to be forced under oath to tell what I know—­or suspect.  However, I am in a position to assure you that Oriental activities on this ranch have absolutely ceased.  Mr. Okada has been solemnly assured that, in dealing with certain white men, they will insist upon an eye for an optic and a tusk for a tooth; he knows that if he starts anything further he will go straight to that undiscovered country where the woodbine twineth and the whangdoodle mourneth for its mate.”

“What has become of Okada?”

“He has dragged it out of here—­drifted and went hence—­for keeps.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”  With an unclean thumb Mr. Conway drew a large X on the geometrical center of his ample circumference.  “When you’ve been in the contracting business as long as I have, Miss Parker,” he continued sagely, “you’ll learn never to leave important details to a straw boss.  Attend to ’em yourself—­and get your regular ration of sleep.  That’s my motto.”