Lewis was a sandy-complexioned man of about forty, with colorless brows and a mean, shifty eye. Formerly a cowboy, he had by the exercise of some natural ability acquired a good property—and a bad reputation. Just how or why he had prospered was a mystery which his neighbors never tired of discussing.
Tad, it seemed, resented any interruption of his rest, and showed the fact plainly.
Yes, he employed a fellow named Urbina. What was wanted of him?
Law explained briefly.
"Why, he's one of my best men!" laughed the rancher. "He wouldn't steal nothing."
"Well, I had to shoot another good man of yours," Dave said, quietly.
Lewis fell back a step. "Which one? Who?" he inquired, quickly.
"Pino Garza." Dave told of the meeting at the branding-fire and its outcome. He was aware, meanwhile, that Lewis's family were listening, for behind a half-open bedroom door he could hear an excited whispering.
"Killed him the first shot, eh?" Tad was dumfounded. "Now I never thought Pino was that bad. But you never can tell about these Greasers, can you? They'll all steal if they get a chance. I let Pino go, 'bout a week back; but he's been hangin' around, aimin' to visit some of his relatives up in the brush country. It was probably one of them old Guzman saw. Anyhow, it couldn't of been Adolfo Urbina; he was over to Las Palmas all the afternoon."
"Did you send him there?"