“And the other by Harry Kelton, eh?”
“And his sister. Butch, I’ll bet they heard what I said to Blaze Nolan that night.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet Blaze Nolan knowed they was there. That’s why that meetin’ was held at the JK. Well, that’s a hell of a note, Marsh. You better eat yore meal and use yore brains.”
“Who could have told them that Blaze Nolan was to be at my house, except Blaze Nolan?” wondered Marsh aloud. “By God, that’s why he was late in getting there. He gave them a chance to get there ahead of him. That’s it! I’m a fool, Butch. He said he lost his money in a poker game.”
“And another thing,” said Butch ominously. “You better not be too promiscuous around Medicine Tree, Marsh. If what we think is true, you’ll hang up on the hot end of a bullet—and not a jury in Arizona would convict the man who shot yuh.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Well,” drawled Butch, “I guess the kid inherited it.”
“Inherited what?”
“Nerve or ignorance, and yuh can take yore pick.”
The next day Hank North and Terry Ione came in from the Triangle X. Marsh wanted all the information he could get regarding that meeting, and he thought Hank and Terry might get more than Butch Van Deen. Hank was a hard-faced, leather-skinned gent, with a crooked nose and a lopsided mouth. If Hank had any conscience he kept it out of sight. Terry was a small, wiry, dark-skinned individual, with a small black moustache, white teeth. His nose had been flattened in his early youth and refused to build a new bridge. His eyes were narrow and of no great depth, and his lips seemed habitually to draw away from his teeth in a mirthless grin. Two toughs, indeed, were Terry and Hank. Terry had been born in Alberta, while Hank first saw the light in a dugout on the Rio Grande. They were usually about three jumps ahead of a sheriff.