“I want to believe yuh, Goode. But a while ago somebody fired a rifle up here, and the bullet almost killed a woman in the Double Bar 8 patio.”
Goode’s eyes narrowed.
“And yuh thought I done it, Hartley?”
“I found yuh here.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I heard the shot. It wasn’t long ago. But a shot don’t mean anythin’. I seared up a flock of quail back there on the hill, and I jist wondered if somebody hadn’t been out tryin’ to get a meal of ’em.”
Hashknife lowered his gun and let down the hammer.
“I’m takin’ you at yore word, Goode,” he said. “There’s got to be a reason for that shot—and I don’t reckon you’ve got one.”
“Well, I sure ain’t, Hartley. Any old time I go bushwhackin’, it won’t be you, nor any of yore friends.”
“Well, that’s sure thoughtful of yuh. Do yuh know Miss Taylor?”
“Know who she is. Tex Alden intended to send me and one of the other boys down here to run this ranch, but when you boys took it, I reckon he changed his mind.”