“Did you talk with Amos Baggs about her goin’ away?”
“I couldn’t find him, Hartley; his office was locked.”
“Well, he’s still in town. That damn fool sheriff read the answer to that telegram right in front of him. Some folks never will have any brains, and it seems as though about the time they get elected sheriff they lose all their natural sense.”
“Do you think Baggs knows somethin’?”
“He knows that we know the girl didn’t go away last night, and that we know Pollock didn’t take that train. It may not be of any interest to him to know this—but he knows it, if it is.”
“Have you any idea why this was done, Hartley?”
“Nope; have you?”
Len shook his head wearily, but Hashknife had a feeling that Len knew more than he was telling. Whispering and Sailor came to them, seeking information—Len had told them that he didn’t believe Nan wrote the note—and now he told them that Nan did not leave on that eleven-thirty train from Lobo Wells.
“Yuh don’t mean to say that somebody kidnapped her, do yuh?” asked Whispering. “Wouldn’t nobody do that?”
“There’s always somebody that’ll do anythin’,” declared Sailor. “We ain’t had a first-class hangin’ for a long time.”