The baron, dazed by the sight of the yellow bar, was unable to say a word. He did not protest, or disavow any evil intentions, for he was so dumbfounded he could not speak. His silence, of course, looked like a tacit confession of guilt. The whole cut-and-dried affair had worked out to the baron's disadvantage and to the benefit of the scheming scoundrels, Bernritter and Jacobs. They had shifted the responsibility of the theft of the cyanide bullion to the Dutchman: And might not McGowan think that he was in league with the red bullion thieves who were believed to be back of the other thefts of bullion? The sharpest criminals are short-sighted as to one or two details, in even their cleverest trickery. Bernritter had overlooked the fact that possibly the Dutchman might be a pard of Buffalo Bill's; and, if this should prove to be the case, then nothing could keep Buffalo Bill from getting into the game. The baron, properly roped, was tied to his horse and led on across the desert in the direction of Phœnix. He was still silent, but he was doing a lot of thinking.