‘I’ll see yuh later,’ he said.
‘Come any time, Lem,’ called Nan.
‘Thank yuh, Nan—I shore will.’
‘Whew!’ exclaimed Rex weakly. ‘That was a close call. You don’t think he saw what we did, do you?’
‘I’m sure he didn’t. But somehow I don’t feel that he believed about the eggs.’
‘Well, we are not in jail,’ grinned Rex.
They walked back to the front of the house, and Rex stood there quite a while, thinking over the events of the night before. He distinctly remembered that there had been a big gate. Where was that gate now, he wondered? There was no big gate at the Lane ranch. In fact, there were no fences around the place, except the corral, and he was very sure he did not come through the corral. Finally he went over to the house and sat down on the porch, trying to reconstruct the locale, as well as he could, of the place where he had been knocked out.
And while Rex Morgan pondered over these things, Lem Sheeley rode back to Cañonville, also thinking deeply. From inside his shirt-bosom he removed a heavy Colt revolver and examined it closely.
It was of forty-five caliber, with white bone handles, and on one handle had been carved the initials ‘P. M.’
‘“P. M.,”’ he said to himself. ‘That’s Peter Morgan’s gun; I remember them bone handles. But what was Peter Morgan’s gun doin’ in the Lane corral? I’ll betcha he was over there tryin’ to raise a little hell with Lane and lost the gun. Serves him right, and I’ll shore tell him so when I give him the gun.’