"What happened to the men."
"Who told you?"
"Rita Coleman," she said. "It was she who wired me to come to her."
"Then the wire wasn't a fake?"
"No, the wire was genuine enough, only Rita wasn't sick. She wanted to warn me."
"And so?" asked Bowman.
"And so," she said, "I flew back, tried to reach you in time. I found that you'd left. I found a letter in Sam's study which contained a map with full directions for getting here."
"And, of course," Grood said, "Sam isn't your father?"
"Of course not," she said. "His name's not Brokay at all, no more than mine is. He is Sam Belting. They called him 'Baloney' Belting, a confidence man. I'm Evelyn Mayer. I served a term in the penitentiary."
She stared at them defiantly.
Jax Bowman nodded. "I know about it," he said. "And tell me about Rita."
"Rita," she said, "warned me. She's on the dodge herself. There was some crime in New Orleans that she was mixed up in. She..."
The girl swayed.
Jim Grood jumped forward.
"Look here," he said, "you're wounded."
She turned a white face to his, smiled with bloodless lips, took a staggering step toward him. The gun dropped from her hand. A tremulous sigh escaped her lips. She dropped to the hot desert sand.
"Wait a minute," Big Jim Grood said gruffly as Bowman scooped the girl into his arms. "You forget those other two who are between us and the highway. They've heard the shooting, and they're laying for us. They'll probably ambush us somewhere, and they're the ones who shot the girl when she came out to warn us. I thought I heard shooting back there toward the tent."
Bowman started toward the tent, carrying his burden nestled in his arms.
"We haven't got any time to waste," he said. "This girl has got to get to a doctor. Get her gun and bring it along."
Jim Grood scooped up the gun which the girl had carried.
"Shoot," Bowman said grimly, "and shoot to kill."
He started walking, striding through the desert in a direct line for the automobile, heedless of any danger which might lie in his path.
Jim Grood snapped open the gun which the girl had carried, gave a quick look at the cylinder, clicked it shut.
"There's just a chance," he said, "she may have come on the two men sneaking up on us. There are four exploded shells in this revolver."
Bowman broke into a staggering run, plunging through the hot sand.
"Keep your guns ready," he said.
The two men reached the place where the cars were parked. There were no more shots. Far overhead, in the blue vault of the sky, a black speck wheeled into a circle. The circle became a spiral. Another black speck far off toward the east swung into motion.
Grood pointed.
"Turkey buzzards," he said, "the scavengers of the desert."
Bowman merely nodded. With tender fingers he pulled away the girl's sodden garments.
"In the back," he said. "I think it missed the kidney. They must have shot her when she tried to warn us. Then she turned and had it out with them in a finish fight."
He held her tenderly in his arms, smoothed the hair back from the damp forehead.
"Poor little kid," he muttered. "If she pulls through, I'm going to see that she has all the breaks that money can give her."
Big Jim Grood swung himself in behind the steering wheel of the car.
"There's a doctor at Banning," he said. "Brace yourself."
Bowman braced his feet, cushioned the girl in his arms.
The car lurched forward, the wheels throwing up a great cloud of sand as the car skidded for the first turn.
Overhead, the lone vulture had now been joined by three more. They dropped down in purposeful spirals.
CHAPTER V.
"NO REASON."
Rhoda Marchand's snipping scissors became silent as the lock on the door of the outer office clicked back. The door opened. Jax Bowman and Big Jim Grood entered the room, their faces flushed and angry red from exposure to the desert sun.
"You got my wire?" asked Jax Bowman.
"Yes, sir," she said, in that tone of crisp efficiency which was as distinctive as the sound of her snipping shears. "I got your telegram and secured the reservations. Two tickets around the world. The names were Rita Coleman and Evelyn Mayer. That's correct?"
"Correct," said Jax Bowman. "When do they sail?"
"At two o'clock this afternoon."
"Get me," Bowman said, "some flowers and some travelers' baskets of fruit, candy, books, and so forth."
Her swiftly flying pencil made a note.
"Yes, sir," she said.
Her fingers held up a newspaper clipping.
"In case you're interested," she said, "there's another newspaper clipping about the mysterious white rings again. An entire gang of criminals were wiped out in the desert northeast of Banning. Two of the criminals were escaped murderers. One was a desperate kidnaper that the police have been hunting for years. One had a long record of suspected swindles. Apparently there was a gun battle between the gang and two men and a girl. The police think the girl was wounded. A physician in Banning gave first-aid treatment and then she disappeared in a chartered plane which the police have been unable to trace."
"How did they connect it with the white rings?" asked Jim Grood.
"There was a mask with white rings around the eyes found in the sand where one of the men had stooped to pick up the girl when she fell forward, wounded. Expert trackers have gone over the scene and advised what must have happened by studying the tracks in the sand."
Jax Bowman nodded.
"You may," he said, "put the clipping in on my desk."
"Do you want the other clippings of the white rings?" she inquired.
"No," he said, "I'll read that one, that's all."
Rhoda Marchand's face remained expressionless.
"Both of the young women who are to sail," she asked, "are—er—perfectly able to travel?"
Jax Bowman's face was unsmiling.
"Miss Mayer," he said, "has a temporary attack of acute rheumatism. It will be necessary for her to go aboard in a wheel chair, but I have every assurance that she'll recover from the attack and enjoy the cruise."
Miss Marchand reached a wrapped package from the drawer of her desk.
"Very well," she said, "I ordered this for you."
Jax Bowman held the package in his hand, looking at her questioningly.
"Some of the very best lotions," she said, "to remove the effects of sunburn."
"When did you order it?" asked Bowman.
"This morning," she said, "at nine o'clock."
"Was that," asked Big Jim Grood, "when you cut the clipping from the paper dealing with the strange deaths in the desert?"
Miss Marchand was a very efficient young woman. It could never be said of her that she didn't know her place, or that she failed to keep her own counsel. Her eyes were wide and innocent as she stared at Big Jim Grood.
"Why," she said, "I'm sure I can't remember, Mr. Grood. Is there any reason why I should?"
"No," said Jax Bowman with a smile twisting the corners of his mouth, "there is no reason whatever."