Her answer flashed back instantly. “If I knew Luck Cullison, I would be sure there was a mistake somewhere, and I would look for foul play. I would believe anything except that he was guilty—anything in the world. You know he has enemies.”
The sheriff liked her spirited defense no less because he could not agree with her. “Yes, I know that. The trouble is that these incriminating facts don’t come in the main from his enemies.”
“You say the robber had on his hat, and that somebody shot at him. Whoever it was must know the man wasn’t father.”
Gently Bolt took this last prop from her hope. “He is almost sure the man was your father.”
A spark of steel came into her dark eyes. “Who is the man?”
“His name is Fendrick.”
“Cass Fendrick?” She whipped the word at him, leaning forward in her chair rigidly with her hands clenched on the arms of it. One could have guessed that the sound of the name had unleashed a dormant ferocity in her.
“Yes. I know he and your father aren’t friends. They have had some trouble. For that reason he was very reluctant to give your father’s name.”
The girl flamed. “Reluctant! Don’t you believe it? He hates Father like poison.” A flash of inspiration came to her. She rose, slim and tall and purposeful. “Cass Fendrick is the man you want, and he is the man I want. He robbed the express company, and he has killed my father or abducted him. I know now. Arrest him to-night.”
“I have to have evidence,” Bolt said quietly.