“Oh, the gun makes you nervous, does it, tenderfoot?” Tug sneered with bitter sarcasm. “Well, it will go off mighty sudden if you don’t answer my questions right smart. You’re from Bar X, ain’t you? Who sent you here, and what do you want?”
MacNutt had apparently found his nerve again, the foolish smile appearing on his face.
“You fire your questions too fast,” he protested in his droll voice, and started to lower his hands.
“Keep ’em up!” his captor snarled, raising his gun threateningly.
MacNutt smiled at Tug blandly, his hands held high in the air.
“I rode over from the ranch to see one of Ricker’s men,” he explained with childlike simplicity. “Met him at the Post yesterday. He ain’t got no more use for the Bar X outfit than I have, and I agreed to put him wise to some things I know about them.”
Tug stared at him incredulously.
“What is the name of the cowboy you met yesterday?” he questioned, suspicion in his voice.
“I can’t remember his name,” MacNutt replied readily. “We were slopped up a little, but I can describe him.” This he proceeded to do, and evidently to Tug’s satisfaction.
“You mean Jean Barry,” he said in a modified tone when MacNutt had finished his description. “Come, and I’ll take you to him.”