But Harlan’s roving gaze, as he backed slightly away from Haydon, came to the breast-pocket of the man’s shirt. His gaze centered there definitely, his eyes narrowing, his muscles leaping a little.
For out of the pocket stretched a gold chain, broken, its upper end—where it entered the buttonhole of the shirt—fastened to the buttonhole with a rawhide thong, as though the gold section were not long enough to reach.
And the gold section of the chain was of the peculiar pattern of the section that Harlan had picked up on the desert near Sentinel Rock.
CHAPTER XVI
DEEP WATER
Despite his conviction that he stood in the presence of the mysterious “Chief” of whom he had heard much, Harlan’s expression did not change. There was a new interest added to it, and a deeper glow in his eyes. But he gave no outward evidence of surprise.
“I reckon I searched him,” he said, answering Haydon’s charge. “If I found anything on him I’m turnin’ it over to Barbara Morgan—or hangin’ onto it. That’s my business.”
Haydon laughed, for Harlan’s voice had broken the tension that had come with the interval of threatening silence.