"Well, I dunno how pure it is, but I guess—"
"And you're a member! But what I can't understand, Mr. Larkin, is why that cameo pin should be an emblem of the Golden Arrow."
"Why," said Bud, looking at her with soft, dark eyes that simply couldn't lie, "the cameo pin is recognized everywhere as the paleface sign."
"Of course!" cried Marge, and wrote it down in her book.
Bud went out, holding his lips carefully rigid and unsmiling, though he made strange gulping sounds in his throat all the way down town.
[CHAPTER SIX]
BUD DOES A LITTLE BUSTLING
The volunteer man hunters had returned much soberer though no wiser than they had set out, and with them came Bat Johnson, who declared that his trip could be postponed until after the inquest, which would be held as soon as the sheriff and coroner arrived from the county seat. In the meantime Delkin had sent frantic word by telephone to the nearest points, and men were riding into town on sweaty horses, curious to see the corpse of the cashier and eager to join in the chase.
"For half a cent I'd borrow a horse and take the trail alone, with grub enough for a couple of days," Bud confided restlessly to his companion. "I'd do it, only Delkin says we'll be wanted at the inquest to-morrow; and after that the sheriff will be on the job and running things to suit himself. Seems mighty queer, the way those bandits plumb disappeared and never left a trace. Bat Johnson claimed to me that he was sure four riders went down the draw and crossed the river ahead of him, but now he admits that he only got a glimpse of the horses' rumps and can't swear to any riders. But what in thunder would range horses be doing right here in town almost? The whole thing's off color. I wish Lark was here—my uncle. He's pretty good at figuring out the other fellow's game."