The ranger gave him a curious look, then took out his notebook and pencil.
“Name and where from, if you please,” he said. “We’ll likely have to come and take down your testimony later on.”
Thady Shea gave his name, and gave as well as he was able the location of Mrs. Crump’s mine. The ranger once more eyed him, but this time with a new air.
“Hell! I’ve heard o’ you, Shea. Partners with Mrs. Crump, eh? That’s a pretty good recommend. Where you goin’ from here?”
“To the mine. I believe that by following this creek I’ll get into the right territory sooner or later. I know how to reach the mine from Zacaton City, but from this direction I’m not so sure.”
Thady Shea was badly off. He was thoroughly shaken by the fearful scene within the tragic shack. It had unnerved him, and he wanted a drink with avid and terrible longing. The ranger observed it.
“I ain’t offering you any drinks, Shea,” he said, drily. “Heard a few things about what happens to folks that offer you drinks. Still, I always do carry a drop for emergencies, and I have a notion that you need a sip mighty bad.”
Thady Shea forced a grim smile. “Thanks. But—the need will have to be greater than it is now, my friend. You think I can reach the mine to-night?”
“No. Some time to-morrow, most likely. Now listen close and I’ll give you directions where to leave this cañon, or else you’ll come out clear down on the Gila!”
Having gleaned a fairly precise knowledge of the location of Number Sixteen, the ranger proceeded to give Thady Shea an accurate mental map of the trails, backed up by a rough drawing. Then he entered the shack, carried out the murderer, and bound the man on his pony like a sack of flour.