"Lookin' for Dale," said the other, hoarsely. "Thought you was him, an' come pretty near borin' you. What saved you was a notion I had of wantin' Dale to know what I was killin' him for! Pretty close, Deal!"
"Why do you want to kill him?"
"For what he done to Peggy—damn him! He sneaked into the house an' hurt her head, draggin' her to Okar—to Maison's. I've killed Maison, an' I'll kill him!"
"He ain't here, then—Dale ain't?" demanded Sanderson.
"They ain't nobody here," gruffly announced Nyland. "They've been here, an' gone. Dale, most likely. The house looks like a twister had struck it!"
Sanderson was inside before Nyland ceased speaking. He found the lamp, lit it, and looked around the interior, noting the partially destroyed lounge and the other wrecked furniture, strewn around the rooms. He went out again and met Nyland on the porch.
One look at Sanderson told Nyland what was in the latter's mind, and he said:
"He's at the Bar D, most likely. We'll get him!"
"I ain't takin' no chance of missin' him," Sanderson shot back at Nyland as they mounted their horses; "you fan it to Okar an' I'll head for his shack!"
Nyland's agreement to this plan was manifested by his actions. He said nothing, but rode beside Sanderson for a mile or so, then he veered off and rode at an angle which would take him to the neck of the basin, while Sanderson, turning slightly northward, headed Streak for Dale's ranch.