That same afternoon, which was two days after Lovely Lucas had tossed Kent Cutter over the Black Horse bar, Jeff Ryker, prosecuting attorney, rode out to Conley’s ranch, wearing a new mailorder suit and an extra large collar. Dawn saw him coming from afar. She had been expecting Jimmy to ignore her father’s warning, and at first she thought it might be Jimmy; but, when she saw who it was, she departed hurriedly, leaving her mother to do the talking.
The very fat, stolid old Indian woman filled the rocking-chair to creaking capacity. She wore an old print wrapper and moccasins, a very brassy necklace and an even more brassy bracelet. Minnie Conley had never become civilized, as far as apparel was concerned.
Ryker rode up to the porch, tipped his hat to Mrs. Conley and dismounted. She nodded coldly. Moses Conley had explained to her that Ryker was the man who would try to hang Peter.
“Rather hot today, Mrs. Conley,” he said pleasantly.
“Pretty damn hot,” she said forcibly.
“Yeah, it is,” he sat down in the vacant chair and mopped his brow. “Hot in town today. I thought I’d take a ride and cool off. Where’s Mr. Conley?”
“He not here.”
“I see.”
He craned his neck and glanced through the doorway.
“Dawn not here,” said the woman.