Duffy ironed out the smile that started to overspread his face.
“It don’t look to me,” he said thoughtfully, “like any man’s got the inside track with that girl. She sure don’t favor nobody that I know of. So you were just naturally buildin’ up trouble for yourself, takin’ the stand you did.”
“I guess so,” Rock admitted indifferently. “Anyway, I got something else besides her on my mind, now. I’d sure like to find out who tried to pot me yesterday, Duffy. I’d make him hard to catch.”
“Don’t know as I blame you,” Duffy remarked. “But don’t you never think it was me, Doc. I’ve done told you where I stand. So long.”
Yes, Duffy had made it clear enough where he stood. Still, somebody had shot Doc Martin. Rock was still pondering on that problem when Nona came back from the house. She had changed into a pair of overalls and leather chaps. She wore a beautifully made pair of tan riding boots. She looked like a slim, capable boy, with her dark hair tucked out of sight under a felt hat.
“What on earth did you do that for?” she demanded irritably.
“Do what for?” Rock affected ignorance.
“Let him think you were Doc Martin?”
“Well, he was so darned sure of it, for one thing,” Rock answered thoughtfully. “It struck me as a good chance to feel around and find out if he did take that crack at Doc. I don’t believe he did. Also, I think I’ve convinced him that I’m going—as Doc Martin—to mind my own business so far as you’re concerned.”