Soapy, still astride his horse, tossed the Saguache Sentinel to him as he turned toward the stable.
“Lie number one nailed,” Curly said to himself. “How came he with a Saguache paper if he’s been to Mesa?”
Caught between the folds of the paper was a railroad time table. It was a schedule of the trains of the Texas, Arizona & Pacific for July. This was the twenty-ninth of June. Certainly Soapy had lost no time getting the new folder as soon as it was issued. Why? He might be going traveling. If so, what had that to do with the mystery agitating him and his friends?
Curly turned the pages idly till a penciled marking caught his eye. Under Number 4’s time was scrawled, just below Saguache, the word Tin Cup, and opposite it the figures 10:19. The express was due to leave Saguache at 9:57 in the evening. From there it pushed up to the divide and slid down with air brakes set to Tin Cup three thousand feet lower. Soapy could not want to catch the train fifteen miles the other side of Saguache. But this note on the margin showed that he was interested in the time it reached the water tank. There must be a reason for it.
Stone came back hurriedly from the corral, to find Curly absorbed in the Sentinel.
“Seen anything of a railroad folder? I must a-dropped it.”
“It was stuck in the paper. I notice there’s liable to be trouble between Fendrick and the cattle interests over his sheep,” the reader answered casually.
“Yep. Between Fendrick and Cullison, anyhow.” Stone had reclaimed and pocketed his time table.
Incidentally Flandrau’s doubt had been converted into a lively suspicion. Presently he took a gun, and strolled off to shoot birds. What he really wanted was to be alone so that he could think the matter over. Coming home in the dusk, he saw Stone and young Cullison with their heads together down by the corral. Curious to see how long this earnest talk would last, Curly sat down on a rock, and watched them, himself unobserved. They appeared to be rehearsing some kind of a scene, of which Soapy was stage director.
The man on the rock smiled grimly. “They’re having a quarrel, looks like.... Now the kid’s telling Soapy to go to Guinea, and Soapy’s pawing around mad as a bull moose. It’s all a play. They don’t mean it. But why? I reckon this dress rehearsal ain’t for the calves in the corral.”