“That’s queer talk from a sheriff.”
“Yo’re just like the rest of ’em, Harry. I may wear a star and have folks call me sheriff; but I’m jist Bad News Hennery Buker, the same as I was.”
“Then what are yuh goin’ out here for?”
“Keepin’ up appearances, I s’pose.”
“Meanin’ that yuh wouldn’t arrest Blaze Nolan?”
“You take that out and bury it, will yuh? Of course I’ll arrest him—if I catch him.”
“Buck Gillis wouldn’t hesitate to arrest him.”
“So I noticed. There’s Padre Canyon ahead. That note said for Collins to meet him at the mouth of the canyon, eh? Mebbe we better go kinda easy from now on.”
They angled their way silently along for the last quarter of a mile to the entrance of the canyon. Very little stock ever ranged in Padre Canyon, and it just happened that they struck the spot where both Cultus and Jane had ridden in. Bad News pointed at the marks in the sand.
“Tracks of two horses,” he said. “Look kinda fresh, too; and they’re both headin’ the same way. You keep an eye on the tracks, while I keep my chin up, ’cause this ain’t no place to get caught.”