Della got up from the table and walked away, leaving Cultus to look after her, a grin on his thin lips. She thought he was one of Marsh’s men, and he chuckled to himself. It was better than he had hoped, but he knew that the case required quick action. If Marsh did pay her the money, she would leave Painted Valley; and if he decided not to pay her, something might happen to Della.
Cultus soon left the War Dance, saddled his horse and rode out to the Circle M. Mendoza was friendly enough. He seemed as anxious as anybody to get news of Blaze Nolan. And he commented on the missing gray horse.
“Yuh don’t suppose Blaze got the gray, do yuh?” queried Cultus.
“Blaze Nolan never steal horse.”
“No, I don’t reckon he would. Yo’re a good friend to Blaze Nolan, eh?”
“Blaze Nolan my friend.”
Which was sufficient answer. He strolled up to the house and sat down in the shade of the adobe wall. Tony Gibbs came out and sat with them, while Mexico Skinner clattered pans in the kitchen. The Circle M didn’t hire a regular cook, but the men took turns in preparing their simple meals.
Cultus steered the conversation around to firearms, and they discussed the merits of different revolvers. Tony appeared well posted on such matters. He had tested the penetration of different calibres, and talked intelligently about them.
“Didja ever use a forty-one?” asked Cultus.
“Not very much good,” said Tony. “Not as good as forty-four and forty-five. The bullet hits hard, but don’t go so deep. Mebby it’s ’cause they make the bullet so blunt on the nose. I have one quite a while.”