“Things are certainly coming fine for me!” he reflected, as from Cowley’s stores he replaced his moccasin lacing. “Now we’ll begin our investigations—and I’d better start right here.”
Ben’s Ross service rifle was in a rack, as was the revolver with its lanyard. Denis gladly took back these weapons, and found Cowley’s revolver hanging to a nail. No other rifle was in evidence, however, and he conjectured that Cowley had not gone forth unarmed. This, however, he had expected.
Leaving Smoking Duck locked up safely, Denis sallied forth on his tour of inspection. First he visited the lean-to at the right, and in this he found a few sacks of corn, together with several sacks marked “Beans” and “Potatoes.” A slash with his knife showed that all these were filled with corn.
“So Cowley has been importing all the corn he could, under every disguise possible!” thought Denis, looking down at the sacks. “The question is, why? In about two minutes your little game will be up, my friend!”
As he closed the rude door of the lean-to and stepped out into the early-morning sunshine, he paused suddenly. The night wind had died away; the morning was perfectly calm and clear. He stood motionless, listening—and the sound came again. It was a distant but still recognizable rifle crack. A third sounded instantly, then two or three shots came almost together. After that, silence.
“That’s Cowley and Ballard!” thought Denis, his blue eyes narrowing. “If they haven’t got him, he’ll be back presently. If they have—then it’s up to me to arrest Ballard’s crowd. By Jasper, I don’t like this business a little bit!”
No further sounds of conflict reached him. While he could sympathize with Ballard and the latter’s friends, he knew perfectly well that he must arrest them if they had killed Cowley. He was representing Big Ben Stewart, and his uniform typified the law, and Ben would be held responsible for the upholding of the law.
Frowning uneasily, he passed on around the corner of the log structure, and again came to where he had found Smoking Duck at work. He stepped to the doorway, set down his rifle beside that of the half-breed, and entered the mysterious lean-to.
This proved to be unlighted save by the door, and for a moment his eyes could not pierce the semidarkness. Then, as he saw what manner of place this was, an exclamation of slow surprise broke from his lips.
“By Jasper! And to think that I never even suspected it—and dad was the closest guesser of all!”