Kirby registered at the office of the frame building which carried on its false front the word hotel.  This done, he wandered down to the shack which bore the inscription, “Dry Valley Enterprise.”  The owner of the paper, who was also editor, reporter, pressman, business manager, and circulator, chanced to be in printing some dodgers announcing a dance at Odd Fellows’ Hall.  He desisted from his labors to chat with the stranger.

The editor was a fat, talkative little man.  Kirby found it no trouble at all to set him going on the subject of James Cunningham, Senior.  In fact, during his stay in the valley the Wyoming man could always use that name as an “Open Sesame.”  It unlocked all tongues.  Cunningham and his mysterious death were absorbing topics.  The man was hated by scores who had been brought close to ruin by his chicanery.  Dry Valley rejoiced openly in the retribution that had fallen upon him.

“Who killed him?” the editor asked rhetorically.

“Well, sir, I’ll be dawged if I know.  But if I was guessin’ I’d say it was this fellow Hull, the slicker that helped him put through the Dry Valley steal.  ’Course it might ‘a’ been the Jap, or it might ‘a’ been the nephew from Wyoming, but I’ll say it was Hull.  We know that cuss Hull up here.  He’s one bad package, that fat man is, believe me.  Cunningham held out on him, an’ he laid for the old crook an’ got him.  Don’t that look reasonable to you?  It sure does to me.  Put a rope round Hull’s neck an’ you’ll hang the man that killed old J. C.”

Lane put in an hour making himself persona grata, then read the latest issue of the “Enterprise” while the editor pulled off the rest of the dodgers.  In the local news column he found several items that interested him.  These were: 

Jim Harkins is down in Denver on business and won’t be home till Monday.  Have a good time, Jim.

T. J. Lupton is enjoying a few days vacation in the Queen City.  He expects to buy some fancy stock at the yards for breeding purposes.  Dry Valley is right in the van of progress.

Art Jelks and Brad Mosely returned from Denver today after a three days’ visit in the capital.  A good time was had by both.  You want to watch them, girls.  The boys are both live ones.

Oscar Olson spent a few days in Denver this week.  Oscar owns a place three miles out of town on the Spring Creek road.

Casually Kirby gathered information.  He learned that Jim Harkins was the town constable and not interested in land; that Lupton was a very prosperous cattleman whose ranch was nowhere near the district promoted by Cunningham; and that Jelks and Mosely were young fellows more or less connected with the garage.  The editor knew Olson only slightly.

“He’s a Swede—­big, fair fellow—­got caught in that irrigation fake of Hull and Cunningham.  Don’t know what he was doin’ in Denver,” the newspaperman said.