"Did he ever say anything that would lead you to believe that he had any

family, outside of his brother and sister? That is, any direct heir?"

Bassett asked.

"He never talked about himself," said Jake. "If that's all, Mr. Wasson,

I've got a steer bogged down in the north pasture and I'll be going."

On the Wassons' invitation he remained to lunch, and when the ranch

owner excused himself and rode away after the meal he sat for some

time on the verandah, with Mrs. Wasson sewing and his own eyes fixed

speculatively on the mountain range, close, bleak and mysterious.

"Strange thing," he commented. "Here's a man, a book-lover and student,

who comes out here, not to make living and be a useful member of the

community, but apparently to bury himself alive. I wonder, why."

"A great many come out here to get away from something, Mr. Bassett."

"Yes, to start again. But this man never started again. He apparently

just quit."

Mrs. Wasson put down her sewing and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Did the boys tell you anything about the young man who visited Henry

Livingstone now and then?"

"No. They were not very communicative."

"I suppose they wouldn't tell. Yet I don't see, unless--" She stopped,

lost in some field of speculation where he could not follow her. "You

know, we haven't much excitement here, and when this boy was first seen

around the place--he was here mostly in the summer--we decided that he

was a relative. I don't know why we considered him mysterious, unless

it was because he was hardly ever seen. I don't even know that that was

deliberate. For that matter Mr. Livingstone wasn't much more than a name

to us."

"You mean, a son?"

"Nobody knew. He was here only now and then."

Bassett moved in his chair and looked at her.

"How old do you suppose this boy was?" he asked.

"He was here at different times. When Mr. Livingstone died I suppose he

was in his twenties. The thing that makes it seem odd to me is that the

men didn't mention him to you."

"I didn't ask about him, of course."

She went on with her sewing, apparently intending to drop the matter;

but the reporter felt that now and then she was subjecting him to a

sharp scrutiny, and that, in some shrewd woman-fashion, she was trying

to place him.

"You said it was a matter of some property?"




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