That talk with the son of the Western manager of the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad did not set well on Lemuel’s mind. Even the fact that the Geerusalem Searchlight’s bulletin board, with chalky eloquence, fairly bristling with superlatives, made bold to proclaim him “California’s Bat Masterson,” carried little if any thrill for him. Sangerly’s words sounded like trouble in disguise. Sangerly’s keen deduction of what had happened to the paymaster’s money seemed alarmingly correct. It seemed more, for on the heels of its apparent certitude, came the distressing suspicion that Dot, having assisted Billy Gee during his whole period at the ranch, must know something about the disappearance of his saddlebags. Sangerly was right. No man in the bandit’s condition would have lost precious moments
