But the Inspector was already talking to the brand-inspector.
The door closed—and opened again to admit Stamford's head.
"By the way, Inspector, I didn't tell you where I was going to take my holiday."
"You don't need to. The H-Lazy Z's as good as anywhere. Tell the Professor—if you see him; the Double Bar-O's only ten miles away—that I'm of the opinion that the schistosity of the stratification in the flexure of the Cretaceous period exposed thereabouts will simplify his investigations—or words to that effect. Give my love to his sister."
When the door closed again the Inspector ruminated. Then he scribbled a message to the police back at Stamford's Ontario home and called a constable to despatch it.
"West," he said, wheeling suddenly on the brand-inspector, "you don't happen in your wanderings to have come across two large dogs new to the district—part Russian wolf, part greyhound, I believe? A week ago they were under lock and key in the barracks corral. One night they disappeared. Nobody seems to have seen or even heard them go—and they were wild as wolves, with a howl that would shame a husky on a Labrador island on a moonlight night."
"Hm-m-m!" grunted the brand-inspector. "Large tracking dogs in the Police corral—deductions obvious."
"I don't care a hang for deductions. It's the dogs I want obvious. I was depending on them to run down these measly cattle-thieves who've been fooling my men all year. I thought maybe a good hound or two——"
"So did the cattle-thieves apparently," laughed West.
"Therefrom comes one interesting deduction; the cattle-thieves are local. But the stealing is too persistent and small to be otherwise."