“Be all set to pull out as soon as it gets dark,” said Hashknife softly. “We may find out somethin’ tonight. I hope that telegram comes before we leave.”
“I’d like to find out somethin’,” agreed Slim wearily. “I had a visit from the county commissioners and the prosecutin’ attorney today. They tell me I’m layin’ down on the job. We shore said things to each other.”
“That Wells Fargo man didn’t stay long,” observed Hashknife.
“Well, we had a prisoner. He said there wasn’t anythin’ for him to do as long as we thought we had the guilty man. Hashknife, the more I think about it, the more I’m of the opinion somebody ransacked the Circle Spade tryin’ to find old Rance’s cache.
“I don’t blame ’em. My God, that’s a lot of money. Just think of a hundred and thirty-two thousand in one grab! Who wouldn’t try to get their hands on it? And that’s why Kid Glover came back. He wanted to get a crack at it. But I’ll bet old Rance is hidin’ out, waitin’ for a chance to grab the money and head out of the country.
“He’d know that a lot of folks would be lookin’ for him, so he merely hides out until it kinda blows over. The Wells Fargo detectives are watchin’ every exit to this Valley. He’s got to be here. There ain’t a place he can get out unless he flies out.”
“What’s yore opinion on all this killin’, Slim?”
“Personal grudge. I think Rance McCoy killed DuMond. The more I think of it, the more certain I am. As far as Kid Glover’s hat is concerned, I don’t sabe it. I’m not even makin’ a guess who shot Corby, except I think it was a mistake. They might have mistaken him for Butch. Dell Blackwell is no saint. Neither is Weed. It might have been either of them that Corby was mistaken for.”
“That’s all very fine,” agreed Hashknife. “You think Kid Glover came back to try and find the money, eh? Then why is he hidin’ out down there in the breaks?”
“He stole your horse, Hashknife.”