"What's the trouble?"
"Ed Watson's killed!"
Hanscom stared incredulously. "No! Where—when?"
"Last night, I reckon. You see, Ed had promised to ride down to my place this morning and help me to raise a shed, and when he didn't come I got oneasy and went up to see what kept him, and the first thing I saw when I opened the door was him layin' on the floor, shot through and through." Here his voice grew savage. "And by that Kauffman woman!"
"Hold on, Abe!" called the ranger, sharply. "Go slow on that talk. What makes you think that woman—any woman—did it?"
"Well, it jest happened that Ed had spilled some flour along the porch, and in prowling around the window that woman jest naturally walked over it. You can see the print of her shoes where she stopped under the window. You've got to go right up there—you're a gover'ment officer—and stand guard over the body while I ride down the valley and get the coroner and the sheriff."
"All right. Consider it done," said Hanscom, and Kitsong continued his frenzied pace down the valley.
The ranger, his blood quickening in spite of himself, spurred his horse into a gallop and was soon in sight of the Shellfish Ranch, where Watson had lived for several years in unkempt, unsavory bachelorhood, for the reason that his wife had long since quit him, and only the roughest cowboys would tolerate the disorder of his bed and board. Privately, Hanscom was not much surprised at the rustler's death (although the manner of it seemed unnecessarily savage), for he was quarrelsome and vindictive.
The valley had not yet emerged from the violent era, and every man in the hills went armed. The cañons round about were still safe harbors for "lonesome men," and the herders of opposition sheep and cattle outfits were in bitter competition for free grass. Watson had many enemies, and yet it was hard to think that any one of them would shoot him at night through an open window, for such a deed was contrary to all the established rules of the border.
Upon drawing rein at the porch the ranger first examined the footsteps in the flour and under the window, and was forced to acknowledge that all signs pointed to a woman assailant. The marks indicated small, pointed, high-heeled shoes, and it was plain that the prowler had spent some time peering in through the glass.