"What's he done?"
"The first trace I caught of him was at a shack of an old ranchhouse where he'd traded his lame hoss in. They gave him the wildest mustang they had—a hoss that was saddle-shy and that hadn't never been ridden. He busted that hoss in—a little piebald mustang, tougher 'n iron—and that was why I didn't catch him till we hit Eldara."
The smile was growing more palpable on the face of Drew, and he nodded for the story to continue.
"Then I come to a house which was all busted up because Bard had come along and flirted with the girl, and she's got too proud for the feller she was engaged to—begun thinkin' of millionaires right away, I s'pose.
"Next I tracked him to Flanders's saloon, where he'd showed up Sandy Ferguson the day before and licked him bad. I seen Ferguson. It was sure some lickin'."
"Ferguson? The gun-fighter? The two-gun man?"
"Him."
"Ah-h-h!" drawled the big man.
The colour was back in his face. He seemed to be enjoying the recountal hugely.
"Then I hit Eldara and found all the lights out."