“And who is the murderer of Leslie?”
There was an impressive pause. Hervey gazed down into the eager upturned face. The dog beside the girl moved restlessly, and as he moved he made a curious whining noise. His nose was held high in the air, and his greenish eyes looked up towards the spotless sun-bonnet.
“The owner of Lonely Ranch. George Iredale!”
Hervey turned abruptly away. Neche had moved a little way back along the trail and stood looking about him. Then out on the still air rang a piercing, hysterical laugh. And Prudence stretched out her arm and clutched at the barbed-wire fence-post as though her mirth had overcome her.
Hervey looked sharply round upon her. Neche gave a low growl, the noise seemed to have offended him; then he limped off down the trail back to the house.