“Yes.”
“Hmp! Better be born lucky than with brains, I’ll say. What were you doin’ out in the blizzard? Where you headed for?”
“I was taking him to Wild Horse—to the sheriff.”
A mask dropped over the eyes of the little cattleman. “What for? What’s he been doin’?”
“He’s wanted for shooting Mr. Reed and firing his wheatfield.”
“You been appointed deputy sheriff since you took to playin’ good?”
“And for other things,” the engineer added, as though Prowers’s sneer had not been uttered.
“Meanin’ which?”
“Kidnapping Reed’s little girl.”
“No proof of that a-tall. Anything more?”