The foreman turned to Reed. “He’s sure enough the same bird. Where’s he been keepin’ himself at, you reckon?”
“Jake Prowers could tell us that,” his employer replied grimly.
This suggested another question to Forbes. “Listen, honey Ruth. This here bad man—did him an’ Black here act kinda like they was friends?”
“They had a fuss,” she said.
“What about?” her father asked.
“’Bout me. The bad man said I wasn’t comin’ home to Daddy, ’n’ he said I was too. They had a nawful fuss.”
“The bad man an’ Black here?”
She nodded. “’N’ he tooked me on his horse ’n’ broughted me.”
Forbes drew aside his friend and spoke low. “Looks like he’s got it on you, Clint. Here’s about the size of it, the way I figure it. This scalawag Cig’s hidin’ out in the hills. Jake Prowers is likely lookin’ after him. Well, he steals Ruth, an’ Don here bumps into him whilst he’s makin’ his getaway. They have a rumpus, an’ Don brings her home. He acted pretty near like a white man, seems to me. ’Course, he ain’t gonna give away this tramp if he’s one of Prowers’s push. That wouldn’t be hardly reasonable to expect.”
“No, I reckon not,” admitted Reed.