"Or he. It may have been one man, and it may have been more than one. You can't tell. Tip had enemies—several. But I'm afraid the gang won't take that into consideration,—much. All they'll be able to see is the quirt and the hatband. And on top of what's happened already! Confound it, Bill shouldn't have disappeared this way. All his friends know he didn't—couldn't have either held up the stage or really rustled Sam Larder's precious horse, which, by the way, was found mud to the ears near Sam's corral this morning. Fact, Dad told me. But why didn't Bill stay and face the music? That's what I'd like to know. He should have known he'd only hurt himself by running off this way. That's where he made one big mistake."
At which Hazel jumped right off the table. Her black eyes snapped. "He didn't make any mistake!" she cried. "He did just right! I know he did. If he ran—went away—he had a good reason and you can't tell me different, Sally Jane Prescott!"
The older girl threw out a hand in mock alarm. "There, there, honey, calm down. I didn't mean anything against your precious Bill. Not a thing."
"He's not my precious Bill," denied Hazel with vigor. "He's just a good fuf-friend."
Sally Jane looked at her shrewdly. "What makes you think your—friend didn't make a mistake in going away?"
"Because he couldn't make a mistake if he tried. That's why." Oh, the defiance in the voice of Hazel.
"Heavens above, child! Men are only human beings and human beings make mistakes. Bill's a man, and he's liable to make mistakes like any other one of them."
"Not Bill," Hazel contradicted flatly. "He—he's different. He——"
Alarums and excursions without—the gallop of several horses, shouts of men, the jingle and stamp of riders dismounting at the door. Entered then Felix Craft and Sam Larder with drawn guns, in their rear the district attorney, likewise with weapon displayed.
"Whose horse is that?" Craft demanded, fixing Hazel with a baleful eye.