"Yes, th' job's been done recent," admitted Pocus Pete, "but that doesn't prove anythin'. Now if we could find a saw with Len's name on it, that might be some law-evidence. But I don't see any; do you?"
There was no saw in sight. The cattle had retreated to the far side of the corral, leaving the part next the broken fence free for examination. But as Pete had said, there was no saw lying about.
"He could easily have carried it away with him when he rode off," Dave said, following up his suspicion.
"Yes, he could, an' he'd be foolish if he didn't—provided it was him as did this," agreed Pete.
"Well, I'm sure he did," Dave insisted. "And I'll take it out of him for trying to spoil dad's best bunch of cattle."
The word slipped from Dave almost before he knew it. But he did not care. As he had told Pocus Pete he was going to regard Mr. Carson as his father—he had thought of him so many years in that relationship that it was difficult to think otherwise.
"Well, you be careful of what you do, Dave; that's my advice t' you," said
Pete.
"Why so? I'm not afraid of Len Molick," was Dave's quick response.
"No, maybe not. Yet Len trails in with a middlin' mean crowd, an' though you are pretty good, you're no match for Whitey Wasson an' his bunch of cowpunchers."
"But my quarrel is with Len, for I'm sure he did this."