He put himself in her way, little thinking she was also intent upon seeing him.
Sal was a woman of more than average intelligence and strength, and quite equal to Abe Dalton in cunning when desirous of pitting herself against such a man.
Jim Dennis was the only one who knew her worth and of what she was capable, and when she left him sitting with Willie in the buggy he had not the slightest doubt she had some scheme on hand for discovering the perpetrator of the assault.
'So you came to see your pet lad win?' said Abe Dalton, as he stood in front of her.
'He beat you and that fellow Jackson,' said Sal, exultingly.
Abe Dalton was still boiling over this defeat, and he had not much faith in Sal's sagacity, or in that of any man, woman, or child, with black blood in its veins.
'He never ought to have won. The horse won. Neptune is a good one, I can tell you. The little ass was half dazed at the finish,' snapped Abe.
'So would you have been had you been struck on the head like he was the night before,' she retorted.
'So you believe that story, eh? Well, let me tell you, it's a lie, an undiluted lie, not a single thing to redeem it. Struck on the head! Well, I'm blessed! And you believe it?'
'I not only believe it, but I know who did it,' was the unexpected reply.