But the youngster was not to be diverted from his topic. “I was lookin’ at your horse,” he said, 21 his eyes shining. “That’s how I know for sure an’ certain who you are.”
Rathburn gazed at the boy sternly as he touched a match to his brown-paper cigarette. “My horse is all right, ain’t he?”
“Sure he is,” said the boy eagerly. “I bet he can go some, too. He’d have to go for you to have him, wouldn’t he? You’re The Coyote!”
Rathburn continued to smile with an amused tolerance. But the girl gave a start; her hands flew to her breast, and she stared at the man with wide-open eyes.
“Frankie! What are you saying?” she exclaimed.
The boy triumphantly brought his hands from behind his back. He held out a poster.
“His horse has got CC2 for a brand, just like it says in this bill Ed brought from town!” he cried. “He’s The Coyote, all right. But I won’t tell,” he added quickly, looking at Rathburn.
The man avoided the girl’s eyes. The boy laid the poster on the table where she could read it again, word for word.
“Tall––light in complexion––gray or blue eyes––good teeth––horse branded CC2––dangerous–––”
And this man was tall and blond, with gray eyes. Five hundred dollars reward!