The holster was empty and there was no gun in sight.
‘Where’s his horse?’ wondered Spike Cahill. ‘I didn’t see it when we came past here.’
None of them had. The road was rocky along there, and on the right-hand side was a scattering of broken rock which had been removed from the road at the time of construction.
‘Looks to me as though Lane took his gun and horse,’ said Morgan. ‘Probably cached the horse for a getaway.’
‘Well, there’s one sure thing,’ said Lem sadly. ‘Ben Leach is too damn dead to tell us about what happened; so we might as well put him on a horse and take him to town.’
‘And there’s another sure thing,’ declared Morgan. ‘If the law won’t hang Lane for his murder—somebody will.’
‘If there’s goin’ to be any hangin’ done in this county, it better be done by the law,’ replied Lem meaningly.
CHAPTER III: THE DEADLINE
‘We can’t do a thing for you, Dave. You ought to know we’re carrying you for every cent your ranch is worth to us. This is not a personal matter. I know you’re good for it; but I merely represent the directors, and the stockholders of this bank.’
John Harper, president of the Mesa City Bank, leaned back in his swivel-chair, and looked at Dave Morgan, who was seated across the table from him. Harper was a small, wiry, grizzled man, smooth-shaven, neatly dressed. He had been with the Mesa City Bank since the day it opened.