Several men who had been standing at the bar talking and laughing fell silent and looked at the two men, the barkeeper sidled closer, crouching warily, for he knew Norton.
Ten Spot had spread his arms out on the bar and was leaning against it, looking at Norton in unfeigned bewilderment. He did not speak at once. Then suddenly aware of the foreboding, savage gleam in Norton’s eyes, a glint of grim humor came into his own and his lips opened a little, curling sarcastically.
“Why,” he said, looking at Norton, “I don’t reckon to be anyone’s keeper.” He smiled widely, with a suddenly ludicrous expression. “If you’re talkin’ about that tenderfoot noospaper guy, he don’t need no keeper. What have I done to him?” he repeated, his smile growing. “Why, I reckon I didn’t do a heap; I went down to call on him. He was right sociable. I was goin’ to be mean to him, but I just couldn’t. When he left he was sayin’ that he’d be right glad to see me again–he’d been right playful durin’ my talk with him. I reckon by now he’s over at the Circle Bar laffin’ hisself to sleep over the mean way I treated him. You just ast him when you see him.”
A flicker of doubt came into Norton’s eyes–Ten Spot’s words had the ring of truth.
“You went down there to shoot him!” he said coldly, still unconvinced.
“Mebbe I did,” returned Ten Spot. “Howsomever, I didn’t. I ain’t tellin’ how I come to change my mind–that’s my business, an’ you can’t shoot it out of me. But I’m tellin’ you this: me an’ that guy has agreed to call it quits, an’ if I hear any man talkin’ extravagant about him, me an’ that man’s goin’ to have a run in mighty sudden!” He laughed. “Someone’s been funnin’ you,” he said. “When he handed me back my gun after sluggin’—”
But he was now talking to Norton’s back, for the range boss was at the door, striding rapidly toward his pony. He mounted again and rode out on the trail, proceeding slowly, convinced that something had happened to Hollis after he had left Dry Bottom. It was more than likely that he had lost his way in the storm, and in that case he would probably arrive at the Circle Bar over some round-about trail. He was now certain that he had not been molested in town; if he had been some of the men in the Fashion would have told him about it. Hollis would probably be at the ranch by the time he arrived, to laugh at his fears. Nevertheless he rode slowly, watching the trail carefully, searching the little gullies and peering into every shadow for fear that Hollis had been injured in some accident and might be lying near unable to make his presence known.
The dawn was just showing above the horizon when he rode up to the ranchhouse to find Potter standing on the porch–apparently not having left there during his absence. Beside Potter stood Ed Hazelton, and near the latter a drooping pony, showing signs of hard riding.
Norton passed the corral gate and rode up to the two men. A glance at their faces told him that something had gone wrong. But before he could speak the question that had formed on his lips Hazelton spoke.
“They got him, Norton,” he said slowly.