“No offense meant,” grinned Chuck. “I was just being cautious.”
The hotel man shoved a well thumbed ledger across the counter. A rusty pen and half empty bottle of ink followed.
“Sign your monickers here,” he said, indicating several blank spaces near the bottom of the page.
Slim picked up the pen and looked at the names which had been signed before him. According to the register, the last guest, Maxie Denkman, had visited the hotel three months before. Slim looked again at the name on the register. “Maxie,” the name clicked. It was the one the riders on the Sky High trail had mentioned as the man he had shot in the fight near the summit when Chuck had been ambushed. Here indeed was a clue to the mystery of the rustling in the Creeping Shadows. It might be worth only a little, but Slim carefully cataloged it in his mind for future reference.
“Not much travel through here,” he said, pointing to the name which had been placed on the book three months before.
“Not enough,” grunted the hotel keeper. “Still, with the riders coming in off the range, I manage to get along.”
“Country seems right healthy,” said Chuck, glancing through the dust-fogged windows toward the broad expanse of the valley.
“Some inquisitive people have been known to have a touch of lead poisoning,” said the hotel man sharply.
Slim signed his name and handed the pen to Chuck. The Flying Arrow rider scratched his name with gusto and felt sure that no one would be able to read the scrawl.
“You fellers didn’t put down your addresses,” said their host.