"You're darned right he was in town. It was Palmer who locked the saloon door, and it was Palmer who seemed to hate the idea of having it opened when I started to leave. Steve did all the bellowing, but Palmer's face gave him away; he wanted that door to stay shut. Of course, he had just deposited five thousand dollars in the bank, and he's been making quite a holler, I suppose--at least, he did at the inquest. But maybe he put that money in the bank for that very reason, to give him something to howl about. What do you think, Lark?" "I'd bet on it," Lark answered sententiously, and with a three-tined fork turned over several pieces of beef fried so thoroughly that the meat was tender simply because it was too young to be tough under any mistreatment. He selected a particularly crisp piece, sawed off a corner with his knife and poised the morsel on the end of his fork. "Oughta be some way to git the goods on that outfit. I've a dang good notion--" "Better let it ride for a while," Butch counseled earnestly. "If it's them, they're bound to tip their hands; any mismove, and they'll be gone clean outa the country. Any of the bunch gone since it happened? What about Bat and his pack outfit? Did he leave with it?" "Palmer sent him back home after the inquest. I overheard him telling Bat that some of them might have to join the manhunt and he'd better stay on the ranch in case he was needed," said Bud. "None of 'em got out with the posse," Lark added. "Delkin told me the sheriff was handlin' it with his deppities, and said he didn't want the hull country messed up with tracks. Said it was time enough to make a general round-up when they picked up a trail of some kind. Good sense, too." "How many men has Palmer got?" Butch wanted to know. "Not more'n three or four--he's too stingy to hire more'n he has to. Who works for yore gran'paw, kid?" "Bat Johnson and Ed White, and--and Mex, and--and Blinker. But Blinker's no good. He--he's old and--and won't talk, and--and just whispers--to himself. He--he's afraid somebody's--comin' to--to kill him. And then there's the cook," Skookum added slightingly. "He's Sam, and--and he's a nigger." "They're all to home," Gelle ended the discussion. "I and Bob met all three riders jest yeste'day drivin' a bunch of horses out towards the reservation." "Got the stuff hid somewhere," Butch concluded. "That is, if they done the job. Thinkin' so ain't proof, we got to remember." "Dang right it ain't," Lark agreed cynically. "They's folks in the country claims they think _we_ done it, fur as that goes. That Maw callin' supper, Bud? You tell her I've et. By Jonah, I can't git no comfort out of a meal with them two pilgrims settin' there watchin' every mouthful and criticizin' my manners. I'll eat Jerry's cookin' fer a spell."