“Let’s go down there,” suggested Harp.
They had dismounted, and as they climbed into their saddles and started angling down the hill, they heard the report of a rifle. The shot had been fired from considerable distance away. They drew up and studied the house. The woman was hurrying into the house, as though the rifle shot had been a signal for her to get under cover.
Brick laughed and began rolling a cigaret.
“No use goin’ down there now, Harp,” he said. “We’ve been spotted. Mostano is no fool. My visit to his place warned him that we might be dangerous; so he’s watchin’ for us. I’m bettin’ that he sees everybody that comes over Big Elk grade. Next time we won’t play the game to suit him, and he’s goin’ to be a sorry half-breed. Let’s go home.”
“Do you think he had anythin’ to do with the shootin’ of Soapy?” asked Harp.
“Prob’ly not. Mostano is a meat thief, Harp.”
“Well, what has meat thieves got to do with all this dirty work?” demanded Harp.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Brick yawned and swung his horse around. “I’ve just got a fool idea, tha’sall. C’mon.”
“And I’m here to state that Brick Davidson is jist about all through bein’ sheriff of this county.”