“How clever of you to think of counting the tickets and finding out where people got on and off! I never should have thought of either,” she said.
“It hasn’t helped me much,” I laughed, rather grimly, “except to eliminate every possible clue.”
“They probably did steal on at one of the stops,” suggested a passenger.
I shook my head. “There isn’t a stick of timber nor a place of concealment on these alkali plains,” I replied, “and it was bright moonlight till an hour ago. It would be hard enough for one man to get within a mile of the station without being seen, and it would be impossible for seven or eight.”
“How do you know the number?” asked a passenger.
“I don’t,” I said. “That’s the number the crew think there were; but I myself don’t believe it.”
“Why don’t you believe the men?” asked Miss Cullen.
“First, because there is always a tendency to magnify, and next, because the road agents ran away so quickly.”
“I counted at least seven,” asserted Lord Ralles.
“Well, Lord Ralles,” I said, “I don’t want to dispute your eyesight, but if they had been that strong they would never have bolted, and if you want to lay a bottle of wine, I’ll wager that when I catch those chaps we’ll find there weren’t more than three or four of them.”