“He didn’t say he was goin’ anywhere. I suppose he got into a poker game and forgot he owned a livery-stable.”
“He wasn’t at the Short Horn.” Thus Silent.
“Tha’sso? Didja look in at McGill’s place? He plays over there once in a while.”
“That’s probably where he is,” said Brick.
“Was it anythin’ I can do for yuh, Sheriff?”
“No-o-o, I guess not. I just wanted to ask Jimmy how one of his saddles happens to have a bullet-hole in the cantle.”
“One of his saddles?” The youth squinted at Brick, as he lighted a limp-looking cigaret. “I didn’t know about that.”
“The saddle that Meecham rode today,” explained Brick. “It’s a cheap saddle—one of them red leather hulls, with a rawhide-covered horn. Meecham was ridin’ a Triangle 8 bay filly.”
“Uh-huh?” The youth squinted thoughtfully. “I know the saddle and the bronc. Lemme see.”
He led them out into the stable and examined the saddles, but was unable to find the right one. The bay filly was in a stall, and Brick knew it was the same animal that Meecham had ridden to Marlin City.