Barrows glanced out the window toward the barn, and then he crossed over to a battered chest which stood near Blakeman’s bunk. The box belonged to the foreman, Connie knew, for she had heard Lefty joking about how Blakeman always kept his love letters locked in it.
To the girl’s amazement, Barrows took a handful of keys from his pocket. He selected one and fitted it into the lock.
Connie had seen quite enough. She pushed open the door of the bunk house.
Jim Barrows whirled about and his hand went instinctively to his hip pocket. Connie noted the gesture and her lips tightened.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” the man laughed, relaxing.
“You were afraid it was Blakeman,” Connie replied coldly. “Jim Barrows, may I ask what you are doing?”
“I guess you can see for yourself, Miss. I was trying to open this chest.”
“Forest Blakeman’s chest,” Connie supplied.
“I reckon you’re right.” Jim Barrows grinned arrogantly.
“Why were you trying to open his chest?”