I dunno,"
and again he shrugged.
Norton allowed himself the luxury of a mystifying smile as Pete Nunez
lifted probing eyes to his face.
"Jim Galloway has been known to lie before now, like other men," was
all of the information he gave to the questioning look. "And," his
face suddenly as expressionless as Pete's own, "it wouldn't be a bad
bet to look for Vidal in Tres Robles, would it? Eh, Pete?"
With that he went out. Quite willing that Pete and his crowd should
think what they pleased, Tres Robles lay twenty miles northeast of
Tecolote, and if Pete cared to send word to Galloway that the sheriff
had ridden on that way, well and good.
Half an hour later, with the deeper dark of the night settling thick
and sultry over the surface of the desert lands, he rode out of town
following the Tres Robles trail. He knew that Pete had come to his
door and was watching; he had the vague suspicion that it was quite
possible that Vidal was watching, too, with eyes smouldering with
hatred. That was only a guess, not even for a man to hazard a bet
upon. But the feeling that the fugitive was somewhere in Tecolote or
in the mesquite thickets near abouts had been strong enough to send him
travelling this way in the afternoon, would have been strong enough for
him to have acted upon, searching through shack after shack, were it
not that deep down in his heart he did not believe that Jim Galloway
had lied.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148