Lila sighed and shifted her packages.
“Anyway,” she said, trying to smile, “your theory is worth thinking about.”
“It’s worth usin’,” seriously. “I know, because I’ve shore used it. You quit worryin’ about yourself—and about anythin’. You’ve done no wrong; and when you’re right, yuh don’t need to worry about anythin’.”
“Perhaps that is right. Oh, I hope everything will come out right for Rance McCoy. Slim Caldwell likes you; he told me he did.”
“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “that makes two folks he likes, Lila, ’cause he didn’t need to tell me who the other one was.”
Lila blushed quickly and hurried toward the house. At the porch she turned and waved to Hashknife, and he knew she was smiling.
He went back to the office, where the doctor was dressing Scotty’s head. Slim had gone up the street, but Chuck and Sleepy were still there.
“Let’s go down and take a look at the shack we didn’t see yesterday,” suggested Hashknife.
Chuck quickly agreed. They took a pair of rifles from the sheriff’s gun-rack, saddled their horses, and headed out of town, after leaving word with Scotty to tell Slim where they were going.
They took the road which led to the Half-Box R, crossed the bridge where they had found DuMond’s body, and then swung to the left, following the river. The country was very rough, and the buck-brush grew thick, with here and there a large patch of greasewood and occasional jackpine clump.