"Three days ago."
"Where have you been?"
"In camp."
"Where?"
She pointed up the stream.
"How long have you been acquainted with this man Busby?"
Here he struck upon something stubborn and hard in the girl's nature.
She refused to reply.
"When were you over here last?"
A warning word from Busby denoted that he understood the course of the
ranger's questioning and was anxious to strengthen her resistance.
Hanscom had several hours in which to ponder, and soon arrived at a
fairly accurate understanding of the whole situation. He remembered
vaguely the report of a row between Watson and Busby, and he was aware
of the reckless cruelty of the dead man. It might be that in revenge for
some savagery on his part, some graceless act toward Rita, this moody,
half-insane youth had crept upon the rancher and killed him.
He turned to young Kitsong. "I haven't seen you lately. Where have you
been?"
"Over on the Porcupine."
"Working on Gonzales's ranch?"
"Yes, part of the time."
"Does your father know you are back in the valley?"
"No--yes, he does, too!"
"You fired that shot that killed the horse, didn't you?"
Young Kitsong betrayed anxiety. "I don't know what you are talking
about."
"Which of you rode the blaze-faced sorrel?"
In spite of himself the boy glanced quickly at the girl, who shook her
head.
Hanscom addressed himself to her. "Senorita, which of your friends rode
the blaze-faced sorrel?"
Her head dropped in silent refusal to answer.
"Oh, well," said the ranger, "we'll find out in the course of time. My
eyesight is pretty keen, and I can swear that it was the man on the
sorrel horse that fired the shot that stopped the Kauffman team. Now one
or the other of you will have to answer to that charge." His voice took
on a sterner note. "What were you doing on Watson's porch last
Saturday?"