Fisher led the wilted Mr. Murphy to the waiting horse and assisted him into the saddle rather energetically. He waved the pair an ironic farewell.
“Hearty travelin’ to you gents! See you later, Tracy.”
The two rode down the street. Sam Fisher turned to the crowd surrounding him, and all the laughing geniality had fled out of his face.
“Boys,” he said gravely, “I don’t blame you for not wanting strangers butting into your affairs. I’m not going to do it for long—but while I’m doing it I aim to do it thorough and proper. Miguel Cervantes was murdered this morning; shot from ambush. I’m going to get the man who did it, and I’m going to send him to the pen. That’s all. Now will some gent kindly direct me to where the nearest or next preacher resides?”
Dumfounded by this information, the crowd split before him. Somebody volunteered the desired direction, and Sam Fisher strode off to arrange for the funeral at the Lazy S on the following day, also for a coroner’s jury. The latter gave him some trouble, but mention of his name and present position proved sufficient to obtain what he desired. Also, tale of the murder of Cervantes and the manner thereof was a tremendous shock. Sam Fisher was careful to make no mention of the murder, and merely shook his head to all queries.
It was seven o’clock that evening when Chuck Hansom, rider for the Running Dog, came into town from the north alone. Before he had ridden a block he was hailed eagerly and brought to a halt, where a small crowd gave him the astounding information about Sam Fisher. Now Chuck was a quick-witted rascal. He readily saw the general sentiment of puzzled wonder and resentment against Fisher’s intrusion into Pahrump, and inside of two minutes he took prompt advantage of it.
“Listen here!” he cried out hotly. “This here guy ain’t Sam Fisher at all. He’s a feller named Robinson, pretending to be Fisher. He’s the guy that murdered Mig Cervantes. Me and Buck seen him do it—seen him! You boys go git your guns and we’ll ’tend to him.”
There was a howl as his words became understood.
Meantime, from the south, two other men came riding into town on jaded, staggering beasts. They were two Running Dog riders who had been absent from the community for some weeks; so unkempt, so dust covered and weary were they that they arrived at Mike’s Place without recognition.
Sliding out of the saddle with groans of relief, they staggered into Mike’s Place, which was comfortably crowded. They were too fearfully tired with hard riding to note the startled silence which fell on the crowd as they were recognized.