“Don’t you believe everything you hear, Ayres.”
“Who brought Miss Singer to town last night?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t, Baggs?”
“I think that will be about all. If you will make out the pay-roll for yourself and the other two men I’ll give you a cheque for it. Be off the Box S by to-morrow evening.”
Len stifled an impulse to manhandle Baggs and left the office. Hashknife, Sleepy and Breezy were sitting on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office, and Len went down to them. He drew Hashknife aside and told him what Baggs had done, while Hashknife whistled unmusically between his teeth.
“Showed you the note she left under his door, eh?” mused Hashknife. “She shore sneaked fast, Len. But where did she go from there? Who brought her to town? I felt sure that Baggs went out after her, but I just asked the man at the stable, and he said that Pollock was the only man who hired a rig from him last night.”
“Who is this Pollock person, anyway?” asked Len. “He came here after I went away.”
“Flash gambler, from Frisco. Unless I’m mistaken, his name used to be Evans, and he’s wanted for killin’. Looks to me like a slick-fingered killer. They tell me he used to work for Harry Cole of the Oasis. Cole told me that Pollock got busted up in a wreck in Frisco and was out here visitin’ while his arm healed up.”
“Hartley, do you think Nan ran away with Pollock?”