“The hell!” exploded Roaring. “Do you know, I never even thought to see what had killed ’em? I’ll betcha Mose Conley killed ’em with Pete’s gun. Yes, sir, that’s jist what happened.”
“Why would he, Roaring?”
“Why would he? Why, the old man has hated the Big 4—”
“For twenty-five years—yeah.”
“Well, mebby it was to show Frank Moran—”
“Conley didn’t even know Frank Moran was comin’. That fence was cut. If Conley wanted to kill Big 4 steers for revenge, would he kill ’em down in that Hot Creek coulee, where the Big 4 couldn’t find ’em? He’d have to take a chance that some puncher would find that cut fence, and investigate. If Conley wanted to make the Big 4 mad, he’d kill them steers inside the fence and near the road.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I never thought of that, Hartley. You kinda reason things out.”
“And if Pete owned the only twenty-two in the country, do you suppose they’d kill them steers and then deny it? They did deny it, Roarin’. And if Conley killed ’em for revenge, would it be any revenge to deny it to the Big 4? It would not. He’d merely tell ’em to keep their stock off his ranch. And another thing, Roarin’; Moses Conley wouldn’t wantonly butcher eight big, fat steers in that manner. He’s an old cowman. He might kill a man, but I don’t think he’d kill steers.”
“Well, somebody did,” said Roaring foolishly. “Mebby the Big 4 killed ’em themselves.”
“Probably borrowed Pete’s twenty-two,” said Hashknife.