She stiffened, and a faint flush crept into her face. Then her chin went up determinedly.
“You rode to Paloma yesterday morning.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“In the gully this side of the Rocking-R trail you met a Mexican on a sorrel horse?”
Again Buck acquiesced, but inwardly he wondered. So far as he knew there had been no witness to that meeting.
“He handed you a letter?”
Buck nodded, a sudden feeling of puzzled wariness surging over him. For an instant the girl hesitated. Then she went on in a soft rush of indignation:
“And so last night those Mexican thieves, warned that the middle pasture would be unguarded, broke in there and carried off nearly two hundred head of cattle!”
As he caught her meaning, which he did almost instantly, Buck flushed crimson and his eyes flashed. For a moment or so he was too furious to speak; and though most of his rage was directed against the man who, with such brazen effrontery, had sought to shift the blame of his own criminal plotting, he could not help feeling resentment that the girl should so readily believe the worst against him. A vehement denial trembled on his lips, but in time he remembered that 169 he could not utter it without giving away more than he was willing to at the present moment. With an effort he got a grip on himself, but though his voice was quiet enough, his eyes still smoldered and his lips were hard.
“I see,” he commented briefly. “You believe it all, of course?”