“Looks thataway,” agreed Ben, who knew little law.
“Well, I haven’t!” snapped Baggs. “Ayres has blocked me in every way. He hates me. I’ve been ordered off the ranch, and threatened with bodily injury if I return. Miss Singer does not confer with me in anything. If you were in my place, would you allow such a condition to remain?”
Ben rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. He looked up at Baggs, a quizzical expression in his eyes.
“Just how much do you value yore ears, Amos?”
Baggs adjusted his collar, shrugged his shoulders wearily.
“We’ll drop that matter,” he said flatly, and then as an afterthought, “I don’t suppose any effort is being made to discover Prentice’s murderer.”
“Any effort? Jist what kind of an effort do yuh mean? We ain’t made no house-to-house canvass, if that’s what yuh mean.”
Baggs put his lean hands on the desk and leaned forward.
“If I was the prosecuting attorney of this county, I’d⸺”
“But you ain’t,” interrupted the sheriff. “If yuh don’t mind, we’ll leave⸺”