“Ah! Younger son?”
“Not even a younger son!” The two horses were now moving leisurely on toward the ford. “Suppose we quit questions and answers that serve no particular purpose, sheriff. I have been waiting to see you.”
“So I figured,” observed the other, imperturbably, “or you wouldn’t have answered my questions so amiably. Well?”
The sheriff permitted himself a sort of wintry smile, while his watchful eyes wandered interestedly over the surrounding bush.
“There are things doing about this country,” Tresler began a little lamely. “You’ve possibly heard?”
“Things are generally doing in a cattle country where brands are easily changed and there is no official to inquire who has changed them.”
Fyles glanced admiringly down at Lady Jezebel’s beautiful clean legs.
“This Red Mask?” Tresler asked.
“Exactly.”
“You’ve heard the story of his latest escapade? The murder of Manson Orr?”