Blaze frowned heavily, hardly understanding what Cultus meant.
“Are yuh sure about that?” he asked.
“I can prove it by the horse.”
Blaze sat down and began rolling a cigarette.
“It’s shore nice of yuh to take it this way,” he said. “That tall gray was in a bunch of Circle M horses, and I kinda picked him out to ride. But I can assure yuh that nobody on this ranch ever stole him—and Mendoza never brands a branded horse without puttin’ his registered vent over that brand.”
“I’m not accusin’ anybody,” said Cultus.
“I know it. That horse is down in the corral now. He picked up a sharp stone between here and town, and I’ve been doctorin’ it. Let’s go and look at him.”
They walked outside and Cultus halted at the corner of the house.
“You turn him loose, and I’ll prove ownership, Nolan.”
Blaze walked down to the corral and opened the gate. Mendoza was standing in the kitchen door, skillet in hand, wondering what it was all about. He saw the tall, gray horse come from the corral, and he heard Cultus whistle a shrill note, like the call of a bird.