“And Curly Field is dead!” repeated Enoch.

“Yes, poor fellow!  Now then, here’s the point, both Harden and Forrester, the other Survey man, are morally certain that there is a well-organized gang whose business is to make oil prospecting on the border unhealthy.  They have several lists of names they want investigated, and they suggest that Secret Service men be put on the job, at once.  There was a small item in Texas papers about the killing and a New York paper was after me this morning for the story.  That’s why I hurried to you.”

“Did you gather that Field’s story had anything to do with the present trouble with Mexico?” asked Enoch.

The Director shook his head.  “No, Mr. Secretary.  I merely brought that detail in because Brown is known to be your enemy and—­”

He hesitated as he saw the grim lines deepening around Enoch’s mouth.  The Secretary tapped the desk thoughtfully with his pencil, then said: 

“Keep it all out of the papers, Mr. Cheney, if you please.  Or, rather if you are willing, let the publicity end be handled from this office.  Send the newspaper men to Mr. Abbott.”

“That will be a relief!” exclaimed Cheney.  “Shall I go ahead on the lines indicated?”

“Yes, and bring me your next budget of news!”

As Cheney went out, Enoch rang for Jonas.  “Jonas, I wish you’d go home and see if there is any mail there for Judge Smith.  If there is, lock it in the desk in my room,” tossing Jonas the key.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” exclaimed Jonas, disappearing out the door.  He returned shortly to report that mail had arrived for Judge Smith, and that it was safely locked away.

Enoch had no engagement that evening.  When he had finished his solitary dinner he went to his room and took out of the desk drawer a large document envelope and a letter.  The letter he opened.

“My dear Judge:  Forrester and I have just completed a sad bit of work, the taking of poor Curly’s body back to Arizona for burial.  Soon after you left, we took Milton over to Wilson’s ranch and left Ag to look out for him.  He’s coming along fine, by the way.  We wired our dilemma to our Chief in Washington and he told us to go into southern Texas and investigate some conditions there for him.  To our surprise, Curly wanted to go along, as soon as he found we were later going into Mexico to an old stamping ground of his.  Well, we had a great time on the Border.  It wasn’t so bad until the hombres began to get nasty, and as you may recall, neither Curly nor my now good pal Forr stand well under sniping.  It got so finally that we had to stand watch over our outfit at night, and Curly got a bullet in his bladder.  He bled so we couldn’t move him and Forr went out, thirty miles, after a doctor.  While we waited, Curly got me to set down the stuff I am sending you under separate cover.  He also made his will and left you his mining claims, all merely prospects so far.