“There is a woman in the case,” said Brant calmly. “Otherwise I shouldn’t be here. But she must not be mentioned.”
“Of course not. Langford is your cousin, and you are his natural guardian—that’s the line. Light a fresh cigar and we’ll be about it.”
They made the round of the newspaper offices together, and when it was completed Brant thanked Forsyth at the foot of the Plainsman stairway.
“I owe you one, Forsyth, and I’ll pay it when I can,” he said. “Let me know when the time comes—say some dark night when you need a bodyguard, for instance.”
Forsyth laughed. “I believe you would fill the bill about as well as the Silverette man. By the way, is he a relative of yours?”
“No; but I know something of him. Good night.” And at the word Brant turned away to begin the search for the lost sheep of the house of Langford.
CHAPTER VII
AND A MOUNTAIN UPREARED
On the night after the raid Draco’s gambling house was running in full panoply as usual; and thither Brant directed his steps upon leaving the Plainsman building. Arguing from experience, he made sure that young Langford would be found in the kennel of the dog that had bitten him; and carrying the deduction a step farther, he was prepared to find the lad playing the part of led captain to some older villain.
It was not likely that the boy had developed a passion for play of his own motion. Brant knew that trade well. It had its master workmen, its slipshod journeymen, its tramps, and its apprentices. He doubted not that young Langford was still of the undergraduate guild; in which case a heroic remedy might yet effect a cure.
This train of reasoning led to certain conclusions. If he should find the boy serving as a stool pigeon for some older man, his task would be comparatively easy. The professional gambler is sufficiently wise in his own generation; and a word to the wise—such a word as Brant knew how to speak—would quickly release the apprentice.