Behind one of the corrals they found Billy Cornmeal, apparently dead drunk, an empty whisky bottle clasped to his breast.
They shook and hammered the half-breed, but not even several sharp pricks with the point of a knife served to arouse him.
“Let him alone,” said Pecos Pete. “He’s dead ter ther world, an’ he couldn’t tell anything. We’re losin’ time.”
So Billy was left to sleep off his jag while the search was continued.
It proved anything but satisfactory, as no person save the half-blood was found who could have fired the shot, and it seemed certain that Billy Cornmeal had not done it.
There was something mysterious about the affair.
“If there had been a possible way for him to do the trick, I should suspect Indian Charlie,” said Diamond; “but he was with us, and we know he did not do the trick.”
“He did not do it,” said Hodge, fiercely, “but he may have been at the bottom of it.”
They went back to the house.
As they entered, they were astonished to meet Frank, about whose head a bandage was tied.