"How long did 'David' stay?" Bassett had tried to keep his tone

carefully conversational, but he saw that it was not necessary. She was

glad of a chance to talk.

"Well, I'd say about three or four weeks. He hadn't seen his brother for

years, and I guess there was no love lost. He sold everything as quick

as he could, and went back East." She glanced at the clock. "My husband

will be in soon for dinner. I'd be glad to have you stay and take a meal

with us."

The reporter thanked her and declined.

"It's an interesting story," he said. "I didn't tell your husband, for

I wasn't sure I was on the right trail. But the David and Lucy business

eliminates this man. There's a piece of property waiting in the East

for a Henry Livingstone who came to this state in the 80's, or for his

heirs. You can say positively that this man was not married?"

"No. He didn't like women. Never had one on the place. Two ranch hands

that are still at the Wassons' and himself, that was all. The Wassons

are the folks who bought the ranch."

No housekeeper then, and no son born out of wedlock, so far as any

evidence went. All that glib lying in the doctor's office, all that

apparent openness and frankness, gone by the board! The man in the

cabin, reported by Maggie Donaldson, had been David Livingstone.

Somehow, some way, he had got Judson Clark out of the country and

spirited him East. Not that the how mattered just yet. The essential

fact was there, that David Livingstone had been in this part of the

country at the time Maggie Donaldson had been nursing Judson Clark in

the mountains.

Bassett sat back and chewed the end of his cigar thoughtfully. The

sheer boldness of the scheme which had saved Judson Clark compelled his

admiration, but the failure to cover the trail, the ease with which he

had picked it up, made him suspicious.

He rose and threw away his cigar.

"You say this David went East, when he had sold out the place. Do you

remember where he lived?"

"Some town in eastern Pennsylvania. I've forgotten the name."

"I've got to be sure I'm wrong, and then go ahead," he said, as he got

his hat. "I'll see those men at the ranch, I guess, and then be on my

way. How far is it?"

It was about ten miles, along a bad road which kept him too much

occupied for any connected thought. But his sense of exultation

persisted. He had found Judson Clark.




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