"They seemed to think you'd oughta been camping on Coldstream."
"What kind of a warrant did they have?"
"All kinds. Two murders and a stage hold up."
"Was one of 'em on account of Tuckleton?"
"Yep. I didn't know whether to hold it against you or not."
"You needn't. It wasn't me."
Dawson grinned his appreciation. "I'm glad. If you had it would have
always been between us. I had figured on playing even-Steven with
Tuckleton myself."
"I'm looking for the man who killed him. If I don't find him I needn't
go back to Golden Bar."
"I heard you'd been suspended from office," said Dawson bluntly.
"I hadn't heard it yet, but I expected it. Anybody else appointed?"
"Shotgun Shillman, pro tem."
"I almost wish it was somebody else," he said whimsically. "Shotgun is
a friend of mine, and energetic as a bear with a bee tree. He'll maybe
dump me before I do what I want."
"If he's a friend of yours----" hinted Dawson.
"He'd arrest his own brother, if there was a warrant issued against
him. He's that kind."
"A conscience is a heavy load to pack," said the cynical Dawson. "Me,
I believe the end justifies the means. It don't matter much what trail
you follow, so you get there. Can I help you any?"
"How?"
"I dunno--any old way. You did me one good turn, and I'm not
forgetting it. Anything I got you can have any time anywhere."
"Now, that's right clever of you," said Billy, somewhat embarrassed at
the other's gratitude. "But I don't guess you can help me any."
"Try me," urged Dawson.
"The man who killed Tuckleton is a man named Dan Slike, who broke out
of jail just before he was going to be tried for another murder. The
only way you can help me is by telling me where he is, and I expect you
can't do that."
"Not right off the reel," admitted Dawson. "Ain't you picked up any
trail of this sport?"
"I've cut his trail five different places, Bow Bells, Gunsight,
Dragoon, Shadyside, and the Rafter L. I figured he'd come here after
leavin' the Rafter L--it's only thirty miles. But I guess he didn't.
Leastwise nobody seems to have noticed anybody of his description."
"You haven't described him to me yet," pointed out Dawson.
Billy began. "--and maybe a black beard by now," he concluded.
"Bow Bells, Gunsight, Dragoon, Shadyside and the Rafter L," repeated
Dawson, rasping a hand across his stubbly chin.
"South, y'understand, till he reached Shadyside, and then he headed
northeast to the Rafter L. What I'd like to know is what made him
change direction thataway?"
"He ain't in any hurry to leave the territory, that's a cinch."
"Not after he left Shadyside, anyway."
"Something happened there to head him."
"Sure. But whatever it was it wasn't visible to the naked eye. Rafter
L, the same way. He stopped there for dinner and rode away without
spending the night."
"He may have gone to Marquis."
Billy nodded. "He may. But Marquis is more north than east. That's
why I came here first. Anyway, to-morrow morning I'm riding to
Marquis, and if he ain't there I'll sift through the country between
Marquis and Dorothy. There are several ranches in between those two
towns."
"I'll go with you," announced Dawson.