The sheep owner flicked his cigarette ash into the tray, and looked at the lieutenant out of half-shuttered, indolent eyes. “Gave it to you, Bucky.”
O’Connor sat up. His blue Irish eyes were dancing. “You’re a cool customer, Cass.”
“Fact, just the same. Got that letter I handed you the other day?”
The officer produced it from his safe.
“Open it.”
With a paper knife Bucky ripped the flap and took out a sheet of paper.
“There’s something else in there,” Fendrick suggested.
The something else proved to be a piece of paper folded tightly, which being opened disclosed a key.
O’Connor read aloud the letter:
To Nicholas Bolt, Sheriff, Or Bucky O’connor, Lieutenant of Rangers: