it did not arrive until four o'clock. Ruthven, when he stepped down from the train, found himself in a town not much larger than Bluffton. He watched while a few packages were thrown out of the express car and gathered up by a man in overalls. Among the parcels was the one for Barton. The man carried his load to a store building across the street from the railroad station, and Ruthven followed him.
A sign outside the store bore the legend: "B. Grandy, General Merchandise." Hanging to this sign were two others, one reading "Post Office," and the other "Express Office." The post office was partitioned off next one of the front windows, and the express office was just back of it on the same side of the store.
The man in overalls dumped his load behind the express-office counter, and a youth of sixteen or seventeen came in with a very slim mail bag and disappeared behind a barricade of letter boxes. A young woman in a calico gown was waiting on a customer in the rear of the establishment. These three, the man, the youth, and the girl, evidently comprised the working force.
"I wish you'd put that package for Thomas Barton on the scales, Mr. Grandy," said Ruthven, leaning over the counter.
The man in overalls looked up, and his faded blue eyes filled with suspicion. "What business is it o' yours?" he inquired.
"None at all; but I think the package is overweight, and I am rather interested in seeing it weighed. I'm from Ranch Two, and Mr. Barton is my uncle."
This statement did not impress Grandy. He piled up the Barton package with the rest of the incoming express matter and made no move to put it on the scales.
"When will that package go out to the ranch?" Ruthven inquired, taking another tack.
"It won't go out to-day," was the answer, "'cause Nate Wylie is down with mountain fever. He was shakin' like all get out when he made his trip to town yesterday. Nate does the hauling between Dry Wash and the ranch. Somebody else, I reckon, will drive the wagon to-morrow."
"If you'll let me receipt for the package I'll get a horse and take it out to Uncle Tom this afternoon."
"Not by a jugful," returned Grandy. "Mebby that package is vallyble, and mebby you're a confidence man. Never seen you before. Somebody I know from the ranch gits this piece o' freight, and not any stranger."
"All right," said Ruthven cheerfully. "Is there a hotel I can stop at until some one comes in from the ranch? I want to ride out there with the man who does the freighting."
"The hotel is right next to this store," was the reply. "They'll take care o' you for the night." Ruthven then went out. "I don't like the way that feller acts," went on Grandy to the girl, who had finished waiting on the customer and had walked toward the front door.
"You're foolish, pop," she answered. "I haven't ever seen a finer-looking young man than he is. What did he say his name was?"
"He didn't say. All he told me was that Tom Barton was his uncle. Anybody could drop in here and say that. Now I'll put that package on the scales jest to satisfy myself."
He did so. "Gosh!" he exclaimed. "It's marked six pounds and weighs ten. I"
"Weighs ten, eh?" called a voice from the platform in front of the open door.
Grandy looked up to see the smiling face of Ruthven. The latter, still smiling, turned and vanished past the window. "Talk about nerve!"" grumbled
