“But how did he fall off?” queried the old lady. “Jim was a good rider, Doc. The saddle never turned with him.”
The doctor shook his head.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Mrs. Wheeler. I am not a detective. His leg was broken from being hung in the stirrup, I suppose.”
“He wasn’t hung to the stirrup when Joe found him.”
“Wasn’t he? Perhaps Joe Rich knows more about it than we do, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Sure—but where’s Joe?”
“If I knew I’d be a thousand dollars better off than I am.”
But few, if any, of the men thought that it had been anything but an accident. A sudden dizziness, perhaps caused by indigestion, might have made him fall. And the horse, even if it was well broken, might have got frightened and dragged him. But there was no question about his being robbed.
It was the evening of the fifth day since Joe Rich had left Pinnacle City when a long train of dusty cattle-cars drew into the town of Kelo. Dusty, wild-eyed animals peered out through the barred sides of the cars, bawling their displeasure.
The wind was blowing a gale, and to the north an electric storm was coming down the valley. But there was no rain; only wind and a depressed atmosphere which presaged the coming storm. The engine clanked in past the depot and stopped with a jerk that shortened every draw-bar in the long line of cars.