“Why would he do that?”
“I dunno why, except that a fellow on the dodge can’t always choose the road he’s gonna travel. Any reward for this guy?”
“Ain’t heard of any. Yore conscience joggin’ you to light out and hunt for the man that shot up Clint, Don?” his employer probed derisively.
“I wouldn’t have to hunt far, Jake,” the herder replied, a note of triumph in the drawling voice. For once he had got the better of the boss in a verbal duel. “He’s right down there among the rocks.”
“Down where?”
The barrel of the rifle pointed to a group of large boulders which, in prehistoric days, perhaps, had broken from the ledge above and rolled down.
“Don’t see any one,” Jake said after the pale-blue eyes had watched the spot steadily for several moments.
“He’s seen us, an’ he’s lying hid. You keep him covered while I go down and collect him.”
Prowers gave this consideration and vetoed the suggestion. “No, you stay here, Don, and I’ll go get him.”
“If there’s any reward—”