“Not much. We cross the railroad over here at Curlew Spur, and then we can foller up to where the horse is.”
Fifteen minutes later they dismounted and looked at what was left of the Circle Spade horse. Coyotes and magpies had practically cleaned the bones of all flesh. Hashknife examined the skull of the animal, which was still covered with skin. The bullet had penetrated the animal’s brain, and had gone through the skull. Hashknife examined the bullet-hole thoughtfully, and then walked to the fence and looked down at the tracks, which were at least twenty feet lower than where they stood.
“Make anythin’ of it?” asked Chuck curiously. He was beginning to respect Hashknife’s powers of observation.
“Sometimes yuh can make a mountain out of a molehill, Chuck,” replied Hashknife gravely. “Mebby we better go and find Slim.”
Slim had told them where to find him and Sleepy, and they were there, sitting in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, from where they had kept an eye on the Circle Spade ranch-house.
“Drawed a blank so far,” grinned Slim. “Saw Monty and Steve ride away; but Chuckwalla ain’t stirred.”
“You tell ’em, Hashknife,” said Chuck, as they dismounted.
Hashknife told Slim how they had discovered the body of Billy DuMond beneath the bridge, and the sheriff’s eyes widened. He had known Billy DuMond a long time.
“Rance McCoy!” he gasped. “He’s been gunnin’ for DuMond. By God, he got loose, waited for Billy on that old bridge—and nailed him.”
“Tell ’em about that hat,” urged Chuck.