Nor did his evident attempt to bribe Hank Ledger serve to illuminate Dorothy’s mind to any degree. This was a mystery. Philo Marsh—well named “a snake in the grass” by old John Dempsey—was up to some shrewd trick.
Dorothy believed Flores knew what it was, but the Mexican girl could not explain. She understood spoken English well enough, but she could not speak more than a dozen words herself. Dorothy had, therefore, determined to talk with Lance Petterby. She remembered seeing Philo Marsh speak familiarly with Lance in Dugonne—just as Dorothy and her friends were leaving town on the old stagecoach. Dorothy believed he was kindly disposed toward her and her aunt. She thought she could trust him—to a degree. At any rate, she was sure he would tell her the truth about Marsh.
Lance had unharnessed the ponies and turned them into one of the horse corrals with a bunch of the Hardin stock. Neither Hank nor the wrangler was at hand to tell him that the particular bunch in that corral had just been gathered in off the range and were wilder than his own broncs.
Dorothy saw the cowpuncher from the Double Chain Outfit close the corral gate and she hurried down to speak to him.
“Mr. Petterby,” she said, “what do you know of Mr. Philo Marsh?”
“Philo Marsh, Ma’am? He’s a left-handed lawyer in Dugonne,” drawled the big cowboy, with a wondering look.
“Yes. But what kind of a lawyer? and what kind of a man?”
Lance was smiling broadly. “I done told yuh that, Miss Dale, when I first answered yuh.”
“Left handed?” exclaimed Dorothy.
“Now you done said something, Ma’am.”