“Sure; come to think of it he was in New York ’bout three months ago on some cattle deal, an’ I heard he had an agent there sellin’ wildcat minin’ stock.  There ain’t no doubt in my mind but he knew some o’ these fellers.  They wouldn’t ‘a’ planned this unless they had some cache fixed out yere in this country—­that’s plain as a wart on the nose.  But whar is it?  I’ll bet yer that if we ever find Cavendish, we’ll find the girl along with him; an’ what’s more, that spot ain’t liable ter be more’n fifty miles from Haskell.”

“What makes you think that?”

“‘Cause this is Lacy’s bailiwick, an’ thar ain’t no man knows this country better’n he does; he’s rode it night and day for ten years, an’ most o’ the hangers-on in this camp get money out o’ him one way er another—­mostly another.  Then, why should Enright an’ his crowd come yere, unless that was a fact?  They must have come for something; that lawyer ain’t yere on no minin’ deal; an’ no more has Beaton been layin’ round town fer a month doin’ nuthin’ but drinkin’ whisky.  The whole blame outfit is right here in Haskell, and they wouldn’t be if this wasn’t headquarters.  That’s good common sense, ain’t it?” He stopped suddenly, patting his hand on the rock, and then lifting his head to scan the line of shore.  “They’re there all right, Jim,” he announced.  “I just got a glimpse o’ two back in the brush yonder.  What made yer ask me ‘bout Pasqual Mendez this mornin’?  You don’t hook the Mexican up with this affair, do yer?”

“Sadie told me she heard Enright speak of him at breakfast; that was all she heard, just the name.”

“Sadie?  Oh, the red-headed waitress at Timmons’s, you mean?  Big Tim’s girl?”

“Yes; she was the one who saw Miss Donovan forced into the wagon, and driven off.”

“And they took the old Shoshone trail; out past Hennessey’s ranch?”

“So she described it.  Does that mean anything?”

Brennan did not answer at once, sitting silent, his brows wrinkled, staring through a crevasse of the rock up the stream.  Finally he grinned into the anxious face of the other.

“Danged if I know,” he said drawlingly.  “Maybe it does, and maybe again it don’t.  I was sorter puttin’ this an’ that tergether.  There’s a Mex who used to hang about here a couple of years ago they allers said belonged to Mendez’s gang.  His name is Cateras, a young feller, an’ a hell ov a gambler.  It just comes ter me that he was in the Red Dog three er four nights ago playin’ monte.  I didn’t see him myself, but Joe Mapes said he was there, an’ that makes it likely ’nough that Mendez isn’t so blame far away.”

“And he and Lacy have interests in common?”