“What became of Wade, the railroad detective?”
“Oh, he went back. Yuh see, he decided that Taylor was guilty; so there wasn’t anythin’ more for him to do here.”
Hashknife went back to the saloon, and they made it a three-handed game of pool. It was about nine o’clock when they decided to go back to the ranch, as there was no excitement at all in Blue Wells. The moonlight was so bright that, following Hashknife’s suggestion, they rode in single file, about fifty feet apart.
That shot from the hills had made Hashknife cautious, and he knew that three riders, bunched, would make an easy target in that moonlight. But their return was uneventful, except that there were no lights in the windows of the ranch-house.
“That sure looks all wrong,” declared Hashknife.
“Mebbe not,” said Sleepy. “Marion and Nanah might be enjoyin’ the moonlight.”
“They might, but we’ll play safe by thinkin’ they’re not.”
The three men dismounted a hundred yards from the house and went cautiously to the patio gate. There was not a sound. The rear of the ranch-house flung a long shadow across the patio. Hashknife watched and listened for a while, and then strode boldly inside. A door creaked, and they heard Marion’s voice—
“Is that you, Hashknife?” she spoke softly.
“It sure is,” replied Hashknife. “What’s the matter?”