“We are all entitled to our theories, sir,” said Judge, “and mine is that somebody was greatly surprised and pained when they discovered that Ben Todd did not locate and record that gold mine.”
“It would, I believe,” said Henry soberly, “have added to his estate.”
“As Shakespeare said,” smiled Judge, “there is something rotten in Denmark.”
“At least, it is worth a sniff or two,” said Henry.
In the afternoon mail came a notice from the express company that a new buckboard, consigned to the JHC ranch, had arrived in Scorpion Bend, and was ready for delivery.
“Something more for those half-wits to destroy, Henry,” remarked Judge.
“I hope they will be careful, Judge. This one has yellow wheels, red body, and is appropriately decorated.”
“I shudder to think what it will have after Frijole, Slim or Oscar have a try at it. We should keep it here in the livery-stable, and only use it on state occasions.”
“Such as?” queried Henry.
“Well—going between here and the ranch, for instance. You know how I hate to ride a horse. Possibly we could use it for a trip to Scorpion Bend.”