“They left Chuck Hansom with him, and follered you. I snuck past Chuck and follered them, lay up and circled around the Lazy S house. Seen Murphy go, then seen you put into the saddle. After that I follered along until I heard the two shots, and that was all.”
Robinson reached for the rifle that was booted at the saddle before him.
“This is Buck’s horse, Steve,” he said gravely. “And Buck’s rifle. Now, lookin’ down the barrel, you’ll agree with me that she’s been fired real lately—and there’s a trace o’ fumes to prove it. That’s proof aplenty for Buck. Let’s look at this gent’s rifle.”
The rifle from the other saddle had also been fired recently. Robinson looked down at the dead man and shook his head sadly.
“You fellows,” he observed, “have been sowing the wind up in this county—and now you’re going to reap the whirlwind. You’ll reap it good and plenty, and she’ll strike sudden; she always does. Steve! Can you swear to it that Buck fired one of the shots?”
“I seen him rise up with his gun a-smokin’,” averred Steve Arnold.
“Then let’s you and me lay off of Buck entirely.” Robinson smiled harshly at the dead man. “We’ll get him when the time comes—and let the law deal with him.”
“Law?” Arnold swore scornfully. “Lot o’ law in this county! You’d never get Tracy to arrest Buck even!”
Robinson regarded him a moment, the blue eyes keen and hard.
“C’rect the first shot, sure’s my name’s Jack Robinson! But I don’t aim to have Tracy do any arrestin’. The main thing right now is that Buck is back at the Lazy S fillin’ Stella full o’ fancy lies, and she thinkin’ I’m in jail for the murder of poor Cervantes.”