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you, Detective Ware, that those millions in cash existed only in Billy’s delirium. Apparently the rumors about that damn legend of the Unhappy Virgin Statue Billy dug up prospecting for gold in Mexico, years ago, sent those murderers here.”
    The cop said, “Rumors? A legend about a statue sent the killers?”
    Kid said, “The legend was, an Aztec King had the statue sculpted in his daughter’s image, encrusted with priceless gems. The false rumors were that Billy peddled the stones for millions in cash. Look, Detective Ware, only a pauper or a lunatic miser would stay in this lonely hole for twenty years! Billy was broke!”
    The cop sucked his teeth and said, “Apparently, Mr. Dancing Rain, just apparently.”
    Kid screwed up his face in surprise. “What?”
    The cop said, “It happens to be an official fact that some people allow themselves to die in terrible poverty while in possession of fortunes.”
    Kid waved his arms in exasperation. “I know Billy was broke!”
    The cop glanced toward a wooded section on a nearby rise. He said, “Maybe. Nobody enter that shack while I look around. I’m holding you responsible, Mr. Dancing Rain.”
    He got into a Chevy and drove toward the rise.
    Folks said, “Mr. Dancing Rain, you have my . . . our warmest sympathy. I hope it is not, uh, indelicate to inquire as to when and how you plan to dispose of your brother’s property?”
    Kid said, “Mr. Remington, I am aware that only intense interest could have brought you and Mrs. Osborn such long distances. As Billy’s only surviving heir and administrator, I am prepared to sell everything now, at auction. The proceeds will be the reward offered to send Billy’s killers to the death house. Are you a prospective bidder, Mister Lee?”
    Trevor said, “Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Dancing Rain, but I think not.”
    Kid turned to Stilwell and said, “And you, Mister Stilwell, do you plan to bid?”
    Stilwell said, “No, I don’t think so, sir. I, too, am on the selling end. I am just with Mr. Remington. He is interested in a parcel of Indiana farmland I own.”
    Kid said, “Good for you, Mister Stilwell.”
    Then Kid turned to Kate and Folks. He said, “Mrs. Osbourne, Mister Remington, shall we go to the stable and to the relics next door?”
    Trevor came to Folks’ side. The mark moved in close. Trevor leaned in close and stage whispered into Folks’ ear. “She’s real! Fifteen points of authenticity!”
    Folks said, “Mister Dancing Rain, Mister Lee, my business manager and curator of artifacts, has refined my interests to a solitary piece. The Indian Maiden Statue at the rear of your late brother’s sha . . . uh, home.”
    Kid snorted and said testily, “I am very sorry, Mister Remington, that I can not satisfy your, ah, limited interest. My time is much too valuable to auction piece by piece. That could take days. Highest bidder takes land and all.”
    Folks said, “Mister Dancing Rain, please excuse Mister Lee and me for a moment.”
    Kid said, “Of course. I’m taking Mrs. Osbourne to the stable.”
    Kid and Kate went into the stable-curio shop, which was flush against the shack. Stilwell, Trevor and Folks stood outside the darkened death shack in the glow of bright stars.
    Folks stage whispered, as Stilwell moved his ears in close. “Mister Lee, this is an extremely unfortunate turn of events. However, I am prepared to bid for Mister Dancing Rain’s whole package. I must have that statue!”
    Trevor and Folks moved quickly from the mark toward the lamplit stable. The mark halted when he heard Marvel moan. He turned and went into the death shack when Marvel cried out, “Jimmy! My millions are . . .”
    Folks went to a peep hole in the stable wall, which was also a wall of the death shack. He watched the mark strike a match in the blackness of the death shack. In the feeble flare of flame, he saw the mark as he leaned down close to Marvel’s sheeted face. A moan issued from beneath the sheet. The