“I thought it was Wellman,” he stated surlily. “Who asked you here? This is a little off your range.”
“I travel on a roving permit,” Carver said. He explored his pockets as if seeking the document and an expression of mock concern overspread his face. “I declare, I must have mislaid it somehow. But I believe I showed it to you once before; and anyway, I’m going now.”
He nodded a casual good-by to the girl, turned his back on Lassiter and departed. As he mounted the cow trail leading out of the head of the pocket he met Bart Lassiter coming down.
“I’ve just been over to your house visiting round with Miss Molly,” Carver greeted. “Noll came riding up and I someway gathered the impression that he wasn’t glad to see me.”
The two lolled sidewise in their saddles. Bart looked down the bottoms toward the sod house.
“I’d keep an eye peeled for Noll,” he advised. “He’s out for you if he sees the right chance. If you don’t watch sharp your horse will come dangling in some day without a rider.”
“Sho!” Carver deprecated. “It’s been against the law to kill folks for a long time now.”
“I know,” said Bart. “But the mere fact that we’ve got a law like that proves that maybe some one did get killed once and there’s a chance it might happen again.”
“He’s been telling you things,” Carver guessed. “Likely he was just easing his mind.”
“Noll didn’t tell me a word,” Bart denied. “He don’t need to. I know him. He rode hard on me with a club, up until I outgrew him, and I can read what’s going on in his mind. I put in all my early years dodging, until one day he cuffed Molly; then I forgot my timidity and pulled down his meat house. It was weeks before he was up and around. He’ll bear watching. I don’t mean to infer that Noll’s all charged with valor, which he’s not, but he’s certainly loaded to the ears with meanness and he’ll take a chance if the odds are all his way and no one looking on.”