“That him!” said the Indian briefly as they drew near. “Him burn cars!”
From the prisoner came a hissing gasp. As Alex turned upon him with a sharp ejaculation of understanding, however, the man assumed an indifferent air, and strode on nonchalantly.
“What do you want?” he demanded insolently of the superintendent. “Can’t a man pull off a—a little joke without these idiots of yours going out of their heads? It was nothing more than a bit of fun me and my mate was having,” he affirmed boldly.
Superintendent Finnan smiled sardonically. “That is what the K. & Z. call it, eh?”
Alex, still with a hand on the prisoner’s arm, felt him start. But brazenly the man replied, “K. & Z.? What’s the K. & Z.? A ranch brand? I never heard of it.”
On a thought Alex stepped forward and whispered a word in the official’s ear.
“Go ahead,” said the superintendent.
“I’m going to search your pockets,” Alex announced, stepping back to the side of the renegade cowman. “No objection, I suppose, since you don’t know what K. & Z. means?”
“Search ahead,” agreed the prisoner, half smiling. “And good luck to you if you find anything to connect me—if you find anything,” he corrected quickly.
From a trouser pocket Alex drew out a large jack-knife. With a suspicion of trembling he opened one of the blades and examined it, while the owner regarded him curiously. With a shake of the head the young operator opened the second blade. A quick smile of triumph lit up his face, and delving into a vest pocket, he brought forth a scrap of paper, unfolded it, and took out a fragment of charred pine shaving.