Bad News didn’t need to finish his statement. They rode back to town, past the place where they had found Buck, but Bad News didn’t look at it. The town seemed greatly aroused over the murder, and Bad News was being advised on every hand just what to do; and he did just what everybody knew he should do—take a posse and do a lot of foolish riding over the hills.
He took Ole Olsen, Butch Van Deen, Hank North and Archie Lee. They rode back to where Buck had been killed and tried to pick up some kind of a trail, but without avail; so they trusted to luck and went east. Cultus would have advised going west, because of the fact that Blaze would probably head for the Lost Trail, in order to get safely out of the valley, and the Lost Trail must lie to the westward. But Cultus had not been considered in the matter.
Cultus loafed around the town that day. The blacksmith, by way of explaining ancient history, showed him where the killing for which Blaze had been sent to the penitentiary had happened—the place where Ben Kelton had been shot in an alley beside the War Dance Saloon. And Cultus figured out the area across the street where a bullet fired from the alley could possibly strike the side of a building.
It required considerable search before he found the bullet hole. It was in front of a store, the bullet barely buried out of sight in the weathered pine, and he removed it with the point of a heavy knife. Strangely enough the bullet was not badly battered, and to his experienced eye the calibre was evident. He put the bullet in his pocket and went to the general merchandise store, where he leaned on the counter and considered their stock of revolver ammunition.
“Do yuh have much call for .41 calibre stuff?” he asked the clerk, who was also the proprietor. The man looked over the shelf of cartridges and shook his head.
“Ain’t had no call for ’em for a long time,” he said, “and I don’t see any shells on the shelf. Yuh might git some down at Henderson’s place. He carries shells.”
“It ain’t a very popular gun,” admitted Cultus.
“Not around here.” He scratched his nose thoughtfully. “I don’t jist remember who had one of them .41’s; it’s been so long ago that I sold any.”
Cultus went down to Henderson’s store and inquired about them.
“Ain’t had none for months,” he was told by the clerk. “Didja try the Medicine Tree Mercantile?”