The deputy glanced at the revolver and turned it over to the Sheriff with the remark: “Been fired twice.”
“How come, Otis?” asked the Sheriff, not unkindly, but with the air of one with an unpleasant duty to perform.
Otis suddenly found his voice.
“Shot at a rattler, just before I reached the Buffalo Forks road.”
The trace of a smile hovered about Sheriff Ogden’s lips.
“And I s’pose whoever shot Joe Fyffe come into the cabin afterward and wrote them words on the floor, just to throw suspicion on you?”
Otis raised his head and looked Ogden squarely in the eyes.
“No, Sheriff; Joe Fyffe wrote that. I’ve seen his writing before. This is a little bit shaky, but it’s Joe Fyffe’s writing.”
The Sheriff raised his brows and emitted a low whistle of surprise.
“How do you account for his scribbling that on the floor, then?”