Quiller was leaning against the counter, holding a lighted match to his cigarette.
“You’re wondering,” spoke up the scout, “whether Nate Dunbar had anything to do with what happened to Jake Phelps. Well, stop your wondering. He didn’t.”
“But the’ was bad blood between ’em, wasn’t they?” went on the cowboy, wrinkling his brows. “When they separated didn’t they both say they’d git even with each other? An’ didn’t Dunbar hit the trail right arter Jake did?”
“All that happened, yes. But that doesn’t prove anything against Nate. I’m rather thinking that it makes the future dark for Red Steve.”
Old Nomad jumped at that; and Quiller, the match going out without lighting his cigarette, flung away the burnt firestick and groped in his pocket for another.
“What about Red Steve?” demanded Quiller.
“He’s loose in the Brazos country,” answered the scout. “Benner was going to bring him to Hackamore for the shooting of Ace Hawkins, but Red Steve slipped away from the Circle-B ranch on foot.”
“On foot, hey? Then why didn’t Red Steve, if he done this, take Jake’s hoss? Red Steve wouldn’t never hev let the hoss git away from him arter he had nabbed the money.”
“Perhaps Red Steve had a horse already,” suggested the scout. “It’s possible he picked up a horse without any gear, and that he took the saddle to ride in.”
“It’s possible, I reckon.”