After a short search they discovered the body of a woman near a small shed. Powder marks on the back of her head told the story. She had been murdered deliberately—shot at close range.
“Skunks—downed a woman!” Toothpick swore.
“Cussin’ never hurt no one,” Dutchy growled. He wandered to the rear of the ruined house and a little later called: “Here’s a gent what’s got breath in him.”
Toothpick hastened to the side of Dutchy and found him kneeling beside a middle-aged man who was unconscious. The two cow-punchers dressed his wound. After a time the man’s eyelids fluttered open and he stared at them with frightened eyes.
“We’re friends, old-timer,” Toothpick told him. The man sighed with relief.
“Set fire to house to bring help,” the man whispered.
“Well, it come,” Toothpick soothed as he forced a little water between the man’s parched lips. “Who done this?”
The man’s eyes flashed and he raised himself on his elbow.
“Le fils du Diable à Cheval—oui—I knew him——”
The man sank back and grew silent. Toothpick gave him more water. “Who’s the gent yuh knew?” he asked.