“Now perhaps it does,” agreed Sevier. “It’s so exposed one wouldn’t think to look in it. The murderer probably thought of that.”
And he vied with Polcher in tearing the mound to pieces. They came to the forest floor without finding any trace of a corpse.
Polcher bit his lips to hide his rage. He knew that some one had forestalled him; he wondered if it could be Sevier. He began to feel uneasy at Sevier’s way of always keeping at his side. Chucky Jack’s threat to hang him if he caught him in overt treachery suddenly became very real, and he mechanically felt of his throat.
Sevier would not abandon the quest, however, and insisted:
“We must make sure. Let us all spread out in a wide circle and gradually work in to this spot. Let no hollow tree, pile of rocks or loose brush be overlooked. If an Indian has been killed, a most serious crime has been committed and we may find ourselves at war before we are prepared.”
“My woman’ll be crazy if I don’t git back,” growled Stetson. “Job Twill as much as said he didn’t know anything about it. Where’s Bert Rice and Lon Hester?”
The two names were shouted repeatedly, but neither of the men appeared. Stetson continued:
“They’re the only two other witnesses known, and I figger they don’t know any more than Twill did. I’m satisfied no Injun’s been killed.”
“But Old Thatch was killed,” cried Polcher, taking a step back. “There’s no make believe about that.”
“That’s another bar’el of cats,” grunted Stetson. “I’m going home.”