"D—n the loon!" muttered Slone, rising to pace the path.
"Wal, Joel's a bit off, but he's not loony all the time. He's seen you an' he's tellin' it. When Bostil hears it you'd better be acrost the canyon!"
Slone felt the hot, sick rush of blood to his face, and humiliation and rage overtook him.
"Joel's down at my house. He had fits after you beat him, an' he 'ain't got over them yet. But he could blab to the riders. Van Sickle's lookin' fer you. An' to-day when I was alone with Joel he told me some more queer things about you. I shut him up quick. But I ain't guaranteein' I can keep him shut up."
"I'll bet you I shut him up," declared Slone. "What more did the fool say?"
"Slone, hev you been round these hyar parts—-down among the monuments—fer any considerable time?" queried Brackton.
"Yes, I have—several weeks out there, an' about ten days or so around the Ford."
"Where was you the night of the flood?"
The shrewd scrutiny of the old man, the suspicion, angered Slone.
"If it's any of your mix, I was out on the slope among the rocks. I heard that flood comin' down long before it got here," replied Slone, deliberately.