“Yes, it is. A man was killed back there to-day.”
“So you want my gun, of course. Here it is. Don’t mention it. I’ve had to hold strangers before now, myself.”
“It isn’t quite so vague as that—and I’m sorry, too,” said Lull awkwardly. “This man was killed in Redgate Cañon and you came through there. I met you myself.”
“Not that big red-headed chap I saw there?”
“That’s the man.”
“Hell, that’s too bad. Acted like a good chap. He chinned with me a while—caught up with me and gave me a letter to mail. Where do we go—on or back? If you take me to the John Cross wagon to-morrow they’ll tell you I’m all right. Down on the river nobody seemed to know where the wagon was. I’m Johnny Dines, Phillipsburg way. T-Tumble-T brand.”
“I’ve heard of you—no bad report either. You live on one county line and I’m on the other. Well, here’s hoping you get safe out of the mess. It isn’t pretty. We’ll take you on to Hillsboro, I guess, now we’re this close. There’s a lot more of us behind, waiting. Let’s go back and get them. Then we’ll go on.”
“Look now—if you’re going on to Hillsboro, my horse has come a right smart step to-day, and every little bit helps. Why don’t you shoot a few lines? They’ll come a-snuffin’ then, and we won’t have to go back.”
Hobby nodded. He fired two shots.
“You ride a Bar Cross horse, I see.”