“Yes. We passed the time of day.”
“And then?” Luck cut back into the conversation with a voice like a file.
“She went on toward the gulch and I kept on to the ranch. The last I saw of her she was going straight on.”
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
The manner of the questioner startled Fendrick. “God, man, you don’t think I’m in this, do you?”
“If you are you’d better blow your brains out before I learn it. And if you’re trying to lead me on a false scent——” Luck stopped. Words failed him, but his iron jaw clamped like a vice.
Fendrick spoke quietly. “I’m willing. In the meantime we’d better travel over toward Mesa Verde, so as to be ready to start at daybreak.”
Cullison’s gaze had never left him. It observed, weighed, appraised. “Good enough. We’ll start.”
He left Sweeney to answer the telephone while he was away. All of his other riders were already out combing the hills under supervision of Curly. Luck had waited with Sam only to get some definite information before starting. Now he had his lead. Fendrick was either telling the truth or he was lying with some sinister purpose in view. The cattleman meant to know which.
Morning breaks early in Arizona. By the time they had come to the spot where the sheepman said he had met Kate gray streaks were already lightening the sky. The party moved forward slowly toward the cañon, spreading out so as to cover as much ground as possible. Before they reached its mouth the darkness had lifted enough to show the track of a horse in the sand.