“Did you see your man, Svendsen, or his wife when you got home?”
“I didn’t; they live at the back of the house. I put up the horses, slipped in quietly, and went to bed.”
“Then you can’t fix the time you got back?”
Prescott moved sharply, lifting his head, while an angry color suffused his face.
“Curtis, you can’t think—Jernyngham was my best friend!” Then he laughed indignantly. “You always struck me as a sensible man.”
The corporal regarded him with scrutinizing eyes, his manner stamped with official austerity.
“I’m forming no opinions—yet. It’s my duty to find out all I can about the matter and report. If there’s anything you’re open to tell me, I’ll make a note of it.”
Prescott’s face grew stern and his glance very steady.
“I can add nothing to what I’ve said, and I’m busy.”
Curtis rode away, but when he was out of the rancher’s sight he broke into a dry smile. He was an astute young man and knew his business, which was merely to investigate and follow the instruction of his chiefs at Regina. Unembroidered facts were what they required in the first instance, but later he might be permitted to theorize.