"Leslie’s name is Quinn, not Jones. His father is A. B. Quinn, North Bend, Okla., or 14 Castle Street, Omaha. He is in Omaha now waiting for Leslie. Sheriff is to send him there. Mum is the word about this note–to him or Leslie or the McKenzies. If I did not know you were on the square you would not get it to be mum about."
CHAPTER X
A NEWCOMER ON MEADOW CREEK
"’Old man Quinn!’" Ross cried aloud. "’Old man Quinn’ and the sheep war. And Leslie is his son!"
It all came back, the story he had almost forgotten in the stress of events on Meadow Creek, the conversation on the train, old Sheepy’s tale and, at last, his suspicions concerning Lon Weston with his dyed hair. And when his memory brought Lon into mental view, Ross’s face lit up with a sudden flash of intelligence.
"It was Weston that I saw in the tent, and it was Weston that went into the barroom ahead of me!"
He laid the note on the dresser and, bending under the electric light, studied it. There was nothing to show who had written it except the caution at the end. That might have emanated from Waymart, but the language was better than he would have used. Ross felt that it was Lon Weston who had written that message. Of course, if such was the case, and Lon was the fourth whom old man Quinn was looking for, that warning not to give the unsigned writer away would be accounted for. It might, in some way, be the clew that would lead to Lon’s detection. Ross now recalled how Lon had lain with one arm over his face all the time that Wilson and Leslie had been at the stage camp. He could not now recall whether or not the injured man’s name had been spoken in Leslie’s presence. But he did remember that Leslie had said of the McKenzies that perhaps they were men at some time in his father’s employ, in which case he might not know them, but that they would probably recognize him.
"Then if he had heard Weston’s name it might not mean anything to Leslie," Ross concluded.
He wondered why Lon had not made himself known that evening and wondered how he came to know the McKenzies. In fact, he sat on the side of his bed wondering about a dozen things until midnight, and then went to bed undecided what to do now that he had Quinn’s address in his possession. His resentment kindled against Leslie whenever he thought of the latter’s deception about his name. And the probabilities were that a letter from him, Ross, would not move the father to clemency.
In this undecided state of mind, Ross strolled into the lobby the following morning, considering how he could best kill time until the stage started for Meeteetse that evening. As he was standing in front of a window, his hands deep in his pockets, the sheriff and Sandy rode past, followed by Waymart. Neither the sheriff nor Waymart looked his way. But Sandy did, and, grinning, raised his hand in a graceful salute. Ross, nodding, felt his anger at Sandy dying. Distrust him as he must, Ross could not dislike him. In this strange state of mind, however, the boy was by no means alone throughout the length and breadth of Big Horn County.