Hoden in one flash associated the Ranger with me—a relation he had not dreamed of. Then, whether from shock or hope or fear I know not, he appeared about to faint.
"Hoden, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers hereabouts?" asked Steele bluntly.
It was characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. His voice, something deep, easy, cool about him, seemed to steady Hoden.
"No," replied Hoden.
"Does anybody know?" went on Steele.
"Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native of Pecos who knows."
"But you have your suspicions?"
"We have."
"You can keep your suspicions to yourself. But you can give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons, the regulars."
"Jest a bad lot," replied Hoden, with the quick assurance of knowledge. "Most of them have been here years. Others have drifted in. Some of them work odd times. They rustle a few steer, steal, rob, anythin' for a little money to drink an' gamble. Jest a bad lot!