“I sure haven’t seen her,” the sheriff said. “Not since she was up the hill there.”
“Have you been around all the time?”
“You bet. Right up and down the street, sort of keeping an eye out to see no trouble comes of all this drinking and whoopee. We want folks to cut loose and have a good time, but we got to be careful.”
“Of course. But, damn it, that girl started out to find you three hours ago. If you were around all the time, how did she miss you?”
“By golly, I don’t know. Mighty big crowd out here, but she could of asked anybody.”
“That,” said Shayne, “is just what I’m afraid she did — asked the wrong person.” He shrugged and rubbed his lean jaw. “Any leads on Pete’s death?”
“Haven’t had time to do much work on that.” Fleming was apologetic. “Been asking questions around. Screwloose has been in town a couple of weeks celebrating his new prospect up on Arrow Mountain. Poor old devil. First time in ten years he’s hit pay-rock, and all he gets is a smashed head.”
“Do you mean to tell me he has recently located a rich mine?”
“Plenty rich, I reckon. I heard Pete had turned down a cold hundred thousand for his third share just on the first assays. With that kind of money offered for a prospect, you can bet your boots it’ll pan out near a million.”
Shayne whistled softly. “I thought all the gold was taken out of the hills forty years ago.”