“Get ’em, Dusty?” he asked.
“Not yet,” the cowpuncher answered while he was loosening the plug. “But, y’betcha, we’ll get ’em if this bird we done got caged didn’t play a lone hand.”
Presently Dusty drove away again, in a hurry to rejoin his companions. He had come back to find out whether anything new had been discovered.
The foreman showed up in the doorway. “The boss wants to have a talk with you, young fellow,” he said.
Betty would have known without any explanation that the prisoner had no intention of running away. But Lon had no perception of this. He did not release his grip until the tramp was in the living-room.
The owner of the Diamond Bar K lay on a lounge and Betty was hovering close to him as nurses do in their ministrations.
Reed spoke at once. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, young man. Put your cards on the table if you’re in the clear. Come through clean. What do you know about this business?” The rancher’s voice was crisp, but not unfriendly.
Tug sensed at once a change in attitude toward him. He had come expecting to be put through the third degree. It was possible that was being held in reserve for him. His mind moved cautiously to meet Reed.
“What do you mean come clean—confess?” he asked.
“Call it what you want to. You claim you didn’t shoot me—that you weren’t in to-night’s job at all. Let’s hear your alibi.”