“Howdy,” he cried. Then in a lower voice, he added: “Looks like trouble for somebody, when doggone near the whole Laredo flight of the Border Patrol puts its heads together. Got something you can let me in on?”
The others were going on. Captain Cornell was tempted to tell Hannaford of the expedition that was afoot. He liked the old Ranger. No harm could be done by it. On the other hand, nothing was to be gained. And his companions were waiting for him.
“Yes, a little expedition up the river, Hannaford,” he said. “I’m in a hurry. Excuse me now, and I’ll tell you about it later.”
Hannaford stepped closer and dropped his voice still lower. “Is it about Ramirez?” he asked. “You was asking ’bout him yestiddy, you know.”
“Ramirez?” gasped Captain Cornell. “Yes, Hannaford, it is. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing much,” said Hannaford, in a deceptively indifferent voice. “Only I know where he is.”
“You know where he is.”
“Uh. Doc Garfield jist telephoned me, right here in the lobby, that he got Ramirez in his office. The duck come in with a bullet through his arm. Broken. Wanted it set.”
“Hampton’s bullet did that. Doc Garfield? Where? Here in Laredo?”
“Uh-huh. Down near the Bridge.”