‘I reckon this was Ben Leach’s horse,’ he told Rex. ‘It busted its shoulder in some way, leavin’ it to hobble on three legs until the reins got tangled in the other front leg and threw it. Mebby the fall broke its neck, or mebby it just couldn’t get up, and the coyotes finished it.’
‘Does it mean anything?’ asked Rex.
‘Well, it means that Walter Lane didn’t steal the horse, which is one point in his favor.’
Hashknife hung the saddle in a mesquite thicket, and they went back home, leaving the way clear for the coyotes to continue their interrupted meal. The buzzards had disappeared by this time.
‘If it hadn’t been for those buzzards, we should never have found that horse,’ said Rex.
‘That’s true,’ thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes it’s a good plan to foller the buzzards, kid. Yuh never can tell what yuh might find.’
CHAPTER XII: AN EMPTY SAFE
‘What right have you got to open the safe?’ demanded Dell Bowen. ‘This ranch ain’t never been turned over to yuh, Dave.’
Dave Morgan, standing in the center of the 6X6 ranch-house living-room, smiled sarcastically at Dell Bowen. With Morgan was Ed Jones, his right-hand man. Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy were standing beside a small, old-fashioned iron safe against the west wall of the room.
On the table beside Morgan was a collection of papers, some money; the miscellaneous stuff which had been taken from Peter Morgan’s pockets. Dave Morgan held a key in his hand, which he had taken from the table.