“In yore saddle,” nodded Brick. “Of course, it ain’t likely that you was in the saddle at the time, Meecham.”
“Well, I—you see that horse and saddle belongs to the livery-stable. I merely rented it.”
“What about the bullet-hole?” asked Leach.
“I don’t know anything about it,” declared Meecham. “It must have been there when I got it.”
“They’d know at the stable,” opined Silent.
“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Brick, “McKeever would know.”
“Let’s take a squint at that saddle,” suggested Grant. “It might not be a bullet-hole.”
“Well, what if it was!” snorted Ike Welden. “My , yo’re makin’ a lot of fuss about a bullet-hole in a saddle. You act like it had hit all of yuh.”
Silent turned and looked at Ike.
“Welden, yo’re breedin’ a lot of misery for yourself,” he declared. “I dumped yuh into the street once, yuh remember. Last night somebody swiped my bronc—and I better not find out that it was you.”