“We don’t know anythin’ about it,” he told her. “Marsh don’t know who shot him. Mebby he thinks Blaze Nolan did it. Anyway, that ’Frisco paper said that he didn’t know who shot him. Blaze Nolan is the only one who knows anythin’ about it, Jane; and if he tried any funny work, I’ll stop him pretty quick.”
Jane’s face was a trifle white and her lips were unsteady, as she said:
“We won’t talk about it, Harry. And Blaze Nolan isn’t the kind of a man to start what you call ‘funny work.’”
Harry looked closely at her, but she turned away.
“Listen, Jane,” he said, “you—no, you’ve got more sense than to care for Blaze Nolan. He’s just a dirty killer, with plenty of money and political pull behind him. Forget him.”
Jane walked into the house, without answering him, and he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, as he walked back to the well and began filling the watering trough with fresh water.
CHAPTER V: UNCLE JIMMY GETS THE LOW-DOWN
In the spacious dining-room, at the long, hand-hewn table, Collins ate a meal prepared by a Mexican woman, mother of little José, while Uncle Jimmy sat across from Collins. He was not satisfied that Collins wasn’t connected with the sheep interests.
“I’m lookin’ for a tall, gray geldin’,” declared Collins. “He’s my horse. Branded with an N on the right shoulder. Yuh see, I was with the border patrol one night when we tried to pick up a contraband cargo. There was plenty shootin’ and one man got hit hard, and after it was all over, I lost a horse. The man who got him was headin’ north; so I took that runt I’m ridin’ and follered. I’ve been pretty much all around, but I ain’t found my horse.”
“You must think a lot of that horse,” smiled Uncle Jimmy.