“But why should they kidnap Mr. Dingwell?  If they had anything against him, why wouldn’t they kill him?”

“If the Rutherfords have got him it is because he knows something they want to know.  Listen, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

The Irishman drew up a chair and told Beaudry the story of that night in the Legal Tender as far as he could piece it together.  He had talked with one of the poker-players, the man that owned the curio store, and from him had gathered all he could remember of the talk between Dingwell and Rutherford.

“Get these points, lad,” Ryan went on.  “Dave comes to town from a long day’s ride.  He tells Rutherford that he has been prospecting and has found gold in Lonesome Park.  Nothing to that.  Dave is a cattleman, not a prospector.  Rutherford knows that as well as I do.  But he falls right in with Dingwell’s story.  He offers to go partners with Dave on his gold mine—­keeps talking about it—­insists on going in with him.”

“I don’t see anything in that,” said Roy.

“You will presently.  Keep it in mind that there wasn’t any gold mine and couldn’t have been.  That talk was a blind to cover something else.  Good enough.  Now chew on this awhile.  Dave sent a Mexican to bring the sheriff, but Sweeney didn’t come.  He explained that he wanted to go partners with Sweeney about this gold-mine proposition.  If he was talking about a real gold mine, that is teetotally unreasonable.  Nobody would pick Sweeney for a partner.  He’s a fathead and Dave worked against him before election.  But Sweeney is sheriff of Washington County.  Get that?”

“I suppose you mean that Dingwell had something on the Rutherfords and was going to turn them over to the law.”

“You’re getting warm, boy.  Does the hold-up of the Pacific Flyer help you any?”

Roy drew a long breath of surprise.  “You mean the Western Express robbery two weeks ago?”

“Sure I mean that.  Say the Rutherford outfit did that job.”

“And that Dingwell got evidence of it.  But then they would kill him.”  The heart of the young man sank.  He had a warm place in it for this unknown friend who had paid his law-school expenses.

“You’re forgetting about the gold mine Dave claimed to have found in Lonesome Park.  Suppose he was hunting strays and saw them cache their loot somewhere.  Suppose he dug it up.  Say they knew he had it, but didn’t know where he had taken it.  They couldn’t kill him.  They would have to hold him prisoner till they could make him tell where it was.”

The young lawyer shook his head.  “Too many ifs.  Each one makes a weak joint in your argument.  Put them all together and it is full of holes.  Possible, but extremely improbable.”

An eager excitement flashed in the blue eyes of the Irishman.