“Maybe Franklyn Moran knows.”
“There’s been no rustlin’ around here, Ed.”
“What about those dead steers at Conley’s?”
“Pshaw! They were killed yesterday. I think he just happened to come here. Mebby he—” Cutter hesitated— “Mebby he came here to investigate the killin’ of Joe Mallette.”
English Ed squinted at himself in the back-bar mirror.
“I don’t know who would hire him to investigate that.”
“Conley might,” suggested Ryker.
“That’s true enough,” agreed Cutter. “If Hartley is an Association detective, like you say, Ed, he’d have a slick way of comin’ into a place, wouldn’t he? Detectives don’t usually have a brass band and a lot of banners.”
“I suppose that’s true,” nodded the gambler.
Ryker laughed outright and reached for the bottle on the bar.