“I’m glad you think that way, Jake,” he said seriously. “My object is to get to the bottom of this matter.”
It was a neat play in the game, the way in which these two smoothed each other down. They accepted each other’s assurances with the suavity of practiced lawyers, each without an atom of credence or good faith.
“Just so,” Jake responded, with a ludicrous attempt at benignity. “An’ it’s due to the fact that you’ve been smart enough to light on the right trail, that I’m ready to tell you something I’ve been holding up from everybody, even Marbolt himself. Mind, I haven’t got the dead-gut cinch on these folk yet, though I’m right on to ’em, sure. Anton, that’s the feller. I’ve tracked him from the other side of the line. His real name’s ‘Tough’ McCulloch, an’ I guess I know as much as there is to be known of him an’ his history, which is pretty rotten. He’s wanted in Alberta for murder. Not one, but half a dozen. Say, shall I tell you what he’s doin’? He rides out of here at night, an’ joins a gang of scallywag Breeds, like himself, an’ they are the crowd that have been raiding all around us. And Anton—well, I’d like to gamble my last dollar he’s the fellow wearing the Red Mask. Say, I knew he was out last night. He was out with two of the horses. I was around. An’ at daylight I went up to the stable while he was sleepin’, an’ the dog-gone fool hadn’t cleaned the saddle marks from their backs. Now, if you’re feeling like bearin’ a hand in lagging this black son-of-a—— I’m with you fair an’ square. We won’t shake hands, for good reasons, but your word’ll go with me.”
“Nothing would suit me better.”
Tresler was struggling to fathom the man’s object.
“Good. Now we’ll quietly go up to the stable. Maybe you can tell if a horse has been recently saddled, even after grooming?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll show you. An’ mind, Marbolt hasn’t ordered one of his private horses out. Nor ain’t Miss Diane. It’s Anton.”
He rose and prepared to depart, but Tresler stayed him.