They told their stories, but in the crowding tragedy of it much was omitted, much of no consequence included. Dakota Fraley swore before them that he himself would find the murderer of Kid Loveridge, if the Police failed.
"The Kid and I," he burst out, "went along together there just before the shooting to where we'd left our horses, and there wasn't a blessed sign of anyone. The Kid struck back for our own bunch, and I climbed the rise to join the drivers. Nobody out there seemed to hear the shots, what with the shouting and the rush of the cattle.... And—and there's the Kid!" His face twisted, ana he struggled to hide it with a curse.
Inspector Barker listened without a word.
"Why was Loveridge carrying a rifle?"
"I didn't know he was. I don't believe it's his."
"That's easily proved," said the Inspector. Dakota said nothing more.
Cockney Aikens had ridden in with the Police from their search. He reported that Kid Loveridge had never reached the H-Lazy Z outfit, of course; but his replies were sullen and brief, and Inspector Barker did not press him. At the end Cockney addressed his wife.
"This is less than ever a place for a woman. Go in to town now. I'll be spending the night at the Provincial."
She flinched before the tone of command.
"I'd rather stay here, Jim. I'm not tired. I can get enough to eat at the mess-wagon till you're ready to come with me."