Dot Reed looked at Allen and saw something in his face that inspired her with confidence. There was a look of understanding that was unusual for one of his age.
“Dad surprised two rustlers over near Hard Pan, an’ they shot him,” she faltered.
“Did they get the coyotes?”
“Yeh, Spur Treadwell an’ the twins come along an’ shot them both. They—they——” She faltered, and the tears sprang to her eyes.
“They?” he urged her gently.
“They said there was another man with the rustlers, but he got away. They said it was a friend of mine. Oh—oh—I won’t believe it of him!” she ended passionately.
Allen swore to himself. Without being told, he knew whom Spur Treadwell had said the third man was. Spur Treadwell was both deep and thorough. Allen had come to Little Deadman’s to help clear a boy’s name, and he now believed he had stumbled into a dark conspiracy that had a deeper motive than just the removal of a rival.
“That’s right, ma’am, don’t believe it of him, ’cause it ain’t true,” Allen said earnestly.
The girl looked at him with big, round eyes. Something of hope, of fear, sprang into them.
“What do you mean? Do you know him?”