“Who––me?” answered the cowman, his eyes growing big and earnest as he grasped the news. “Not a thing. The last time I saw Juan Alvarez he was standin’ on a ledge of rocks way over yonder in the middle fork––and he certainly was all right then.”
“Yes? And when was this, Mr. Creede?”
“Day before yesterday, about sundown.”
“Day before yesterday, eh? And just what was you doin’ over there at the time?”
“Well, I’ll tell ye,” began Creede circumstantially. “Me and Ben Reavis and a couple of the boys had gone over toward the Pocket to catch up our horses. They turned back on us and finally we run ’em into that big redondo up in the middle fork. I reckon we was ridin’ back and forth half an hour out there gittin’ ’em stopped, and we never heard a peep out of this Mexican, but jest as we got our remuda quieted down and was edgin’ in to rope out the ones we wanted, here comes a big band of wild horses that the other boys had scared up over behind the Peaks, roaring down the cañon and into us. Of course, there was nothin’ for it then but to git out of the way and let ’em pass, and we did it, dam’ quick. Well, sir, that bunch of wild horses went by us like the mill tails of hell, and of course our remuda stompeded after ’em and the whole outfit went bilin’ through the box cañon, where it turned out Juan Alvarez had been hidin’ his sheep. That’s all I know about it.”
“Well, did you have any trouble of any kind with this deceased Mexican, Mr. Creede? Of course you don’t need to answer that if it will incriminate you, but I just wanted to know, you understand.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” responded the cowman, waving 423 the suggestion aside with airy unconcern. “This is the first I’ve heard of any killin’, but bein’ as you’re an officer I might as well come through with what I know. I don’t deny for a minute that I’ve had trouble with Juan. I had a fist fight with him a couple of years ago, and I licked him, too––but seein’ him up on that ledge of rocks when I rode through after my horses was certainly one of the big surprises of my life.”
“Uh, you was surprised, was ye?” snarled Swope, who had been glowering at him malignantly through his long recital. “Mebbe––”
“Yes, I was surprised!” retorted Creede angrily. “And I was like the man that received the gold-headed cane––I was pleased, too, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at. I don’t doubt you and Jasp sent that dam’ Greaser in there to sheep us out, and if he got killed you’ve got yourself to thank for it. He had no business in there, in the first place, and in the second place, I gave you fair warnin’ to keep ’im out.”