"Oh!" cried Amy, looking at him reproachfully.
"It's a fact," Bob insisted. "I know his connection with all this better than you do, and his being on this road was no accident. It was to see his orders carried out."
Ware was looking at him shrewdly.
"That fits," he declared. "I couldn't figure why my old friend Bill didn't cut loose. But he's got a head on him."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, when he see Oldham dropped, what use was there of going to shooting? It would just make trouble for him and he couldn't hope for no pay. He just faded."
"He's a quick thinker, then," said Bob.
"You bet you!"
The two men laid Oldham's body under the shade. As they disposed it decently, Bob experienced again that haunting sense of having known him elsewhere that had on several occasions assailed his memory. The man's face was familiar to him with a familiarity that Bob somehow felt antedated his California acquaintance.
"We must get to the mill and send a wagon for him," Ware was saying.