"I've always knowed who done it," Loudon said. "I dug a forty-five bullet out o' Blakely's swell-fork the day we had the run-in at the Bar S."
"Why didn't yuh tell me?" demanded Johnny.
"The bullet wasn't proof, when yuh come right down to it. No use o' yore lockin' horns with Blakely, anyway. It wouldn't 'a' done no good."
"Well, it don't—— Hellenblazes! Hear him yell!"
Loudon began to swear under his breath. A door banged suddenly. Blakely's insane shrieking abruptly stilled. Soon the three men heard the trample of the gray's feet. Then, beyond the ranch house, appeared Laguerre. He was mounted. Face downward across his lap lay Blakely, gagged with his own holster and silk neckerchief.
Riding at a walk, Laguerre headed toward the grove of singing pines where they had left their horses. When Brown Jug and his double burden disappeared among the trees Loudon drew a long breath.
"I ain't in a bit of a hurry for my hoss," he declared.
"Which I should say not!" Johnny Ramsay exclaimed with fervour.
The sun was an hour high when Laguerre loped out of the grove. He was leading their four horses. They watched him with morbid fascination.
Laguerre rode up to the corral and halted. The gray, hard held, shook his head. On the right cheek-piece of the horse's bridle a black-haired scalp flapped soggily. And Laguerre looked up at the three men on the top rail of the corral.