The same red-faced little man came rushing into the store, brought there by a messenger who had gone in search of him.
Frank examined his weapons, and then walked out of the store.
There was considerable excitement on the street, caused by the shooting. Merry minded no one, yet kept his eyes wide open for every one. As fast as he could step he proceeded straight to the open door from which Cimarron Bill had fired the shot. He had a pistol in either hand when he stepped through that doorway.
As he had expected, it was a saloon. Three persons were in the room, but Cimarron Bill was not there.
"Gentlemen," said Merry, "I'll be obliged if you will tell me where I can find the white-livered cur who just shot Ben File from this doorway."
They stared at him as if doubting their senses.
"If it's Cimarron Bill you're looking for, young man," one of them finally said, "take my advice and don't. It's the most onhealthy occupation you can engage in, and I advise——"
"Cut out the advice," said Merry sharply; "and tell me where the cowardly dog has gone."
"He ambled out o' yere directly arter doin' the shootin', and we last sees him lopin' down the street that-a-way. But you wants to keep a heap long distance——"