Her lip trembled. "Night before last. After supper he started for the
Cattleman's Club, but he never got there."
"Sure he wasn't called out to one of the ranches unexpected?"
"I sent out to make sure. He hasn't been seen there."
"Looks like some of Brad Steelman's smooth work," admitted Dave. "If he could work yore father to sign a relinquishment—"
Fire flickered in her eye. "He'd ought to know Dad better."
"Tha's right too. But Brad needs them water-holes in his business bad. Without 'em he loses the whole Round Top range. He might take a crack at turning the screws on yore father."
"You don't think—?" She stopped, to fight back a sob that filled her soft throat.
Dave was not sure what he thought, but he answered cheerfully and instantly. "No, I don't reckon they've dry-gulched him or anything. Emerson Crawford is one sure-enough husky citizen. He couldn't either be shot or rough-housed in town without some one hearin' the noise. What's more, it wouldn't be their play to injure him, but to force a relinquishment."
"That's true. You believe that, don't you?" Joyce cried eagerly.
"Sure I do." And Dave discovered that his argument or his hopes had for the moment convinced him. "Now the question is, what's to be done?"