“Somebody took a shot at me,” growled Marsh, and then he told Butch what happened that night. Butch listened closely to the narrative.
“And you don’t know who shot yuh, eh?”
“I wish I did.”
“Somebody heard what you told Blaze Nolan, eh? Suppose it was somebody from here?”
“That’s hardly possible, Butch. I suppose I’ve enemies outside of Painted Valley.”
“Prob’ly,” dryly. “But didja ever stop to think that Blaze Nolan might have tipped somebody off; so they could listen to yuh talk? Yuh say he faded out, too. I’ll make yuh a bet that Nolan handed you a double-cross.”
“No, I don’t believe that, Butch. Blaze ducked out because he had an idea that I was killed. Yuh know what chance he’d have had with the police. They’d have⸺”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Butch. “Harry Kelton and his sister were away from here about ten days. It corresponds with the time you got shot. Mebby Blaze Nolan sent them word.”
Marsh shoved back from the table, staring at Butch. Then he laughed harshly, resting his elbows on the table.
“That’s damn funny,” he said. “I’ll bet you hit it, Butch. The police found the tracks of two men and one woman in the soil beneath the little balcony where they got into my house. One set of tracks was made by Blaze Nolan.”