“Some one has been at you to prejudice you, Bolt.”
“Nobody but Luck Cullison himself—and his actions.”
From the office of the sheriff, Mackenzie wandered to the club in search of Luck. He was thoroughly dispirited, both dreaded to meet Luck, and yet was anxious to do so. For he wanted to warn him, wanted to see him fall into one of his chill rages when he told him there were suspicions against him.
Cullison had left the club, but Alec Flandrau was still there. Billie drew him into a corner, and learned that Luck had just settled with him.
“Anyone see him give it to you, Alec?”
“No. He took me upstairs to the library and paid me.”
“In bills?”
“Yes—in twenties.”
“For God’s sake, don’t tell anybody that.” In a dozen jerky sentences the owner of the Fiddleback told Flandrau of the suspicions of the sheriff.
Together they went in search of Luck. But though they looked for him all day, he was not to be found. They might have concluded he had ridden out to the ranch, but his horse was still at the stable where he had left it.