he'll get what's coming. It wasn't Ruthven who laid me by the heels; it was McKenzie."
He faced the detective. "Take me back to Monte Carlo, Hackett," he went on, "but take me by way of Burt City. I want to stop there long enough to face McKenzie. I can tell you things about McKenzie neither you nor any one else in these parts ever dreamed of. You'll want to hear it, Hackett." He swung around to get Ruthven under his venomous, flaming eyes. "You'll get to Burt City ahead of us. Go to McKenzie and tell him I'm on his trail. That's all. Warn him to pull out—to drop everything and pull out—before I get there."
"You can't hurt Arlo McKenzie," said Jenkins.
"We'll see," answered Morrison. "Come on—get me away from here. I want to get into some dry clothes."
He moved away, drawing Jenkins along with him. The detective would also have left the place had Ruthven not pointed to the bushes.
"There's a satchel in there," remarked Ruthven. "Morrison threw it off the speeder as we neared the bridge. When he got out of the river he came this way, found the satchel, and took that gun out of it. Maybe there's something else in the grip that you'll find important."
"Another one for you, Ruthven!" grunted Morrison.
Hackett went to the brush, picked up the satchel, found it was unlocked, and looked into it. Then he gave a shout of delight.
"It's the famous kit!" he exclaimed. "The patent burglar tools! Of course Morrison threw them off the speeder when there was a possibility of his being captured. Could you blame him? Finding this kit makes our morning's work complete. Not until now have these things ever been found in the Weasel's possession. It means a lot, Ruthven. In the past Morrison has been mighty clever in dodging responsibility for this criminal outfit, but here he is caught with the goods! Now let's get the train back. We're delaying these men here."
CHAPTER XII.
A VISIT OF FRIENDSHIP.
ONE inconvenience about traveling light, as Ruthven had traveled from Burt City to Dry Wash, was this: that he had to go to bed at the hotel while his wearing apparel was being dried and put into shape. Ever since hurrying to the Burt City railroad station with Summerfteld, on the telephone request of Harrington, Ruthven had been entirely the creature of chance.
Again and again he had changed his plans, as one fresh development after another presented itself. Now he had made up his mind to defer calling at Barton's upper ranch and to return by first train to Burt City. He was urged to this by Weasel Morrison's dark threats against McKenzie. To guard against any possibility of trouble, Ruthven thought it better to acquaint the junior partner with what had happened.
"I'm blest if I know what the Weasel has at the back of his head," said the detective, dropping into Ruthven's room while he was waiting for his clothes. "He is crazy mad at this man McKenzie, and he'll do him dirt if he can. Maybe Morrison's hatching up something to put over on an innocent man. We can't tell about that. I'm going to take him to Monte Carlo, for we have him cinched for that job, and on the way I guess we'll stop off at Burt City. There may be something important for me to know in this McKenzie matter. It's just as well to probe it, anyhow."
"If Morrison is hatching up anything," declared Ruthven, "it is all a
