"'Cause," replied Tunstall, "Doubleday sent me in to tell the sheriff an' get a doc for Scotty. The doc's on his way, an' the sheriff's due in to-day from Rocket. All the outfit, 'cept Doubleday an' Giant Morton, are cavortin' over the hills an' far away a-sniffin' to pick up the trail." "When did it happen?" "Well, as near as we could make out, after siftin' out Scotty's cuss-words an' gettin' down to hard-rock, Scotty was shot 'bout eight or nine o'clock in the evenin'." "How?" "Says he heard a racket in the stallion corral. No more'n he slips out of the office when he's plugged twice--once in the left leg, an' a deep graze on his head. The head shot is what knocked him out. He said he didn't come to till after midnight. He drug himself into the office an' tied himself up the best he could an' lived offen airtights till we pulled in. He didn't even know any hosses had been run off till after we got back." "I s'pose he was shot the evenin' of the dance?" "Shore. Oh, ain't it lovely? While we're chasin' imaginary feather-dusters, the Flyin' M hosses are vanishin'. It shore was a slick trick. The gent that thought up that plan for getting' every two-legged man in the country out of the way is a wizard. I'd admire to see him, I would. I'll bet he's all head." "He ain't exactly a fool," admitted Loudon, thinking of Sam Blakely. Certainly the manner in which the horse-stealing had been carried out bore the ear-marks of 88 methods. "They had two days' start," observed Swing Tunstall. "Time to ride to Old Mexico almost." "Telescope's a good tracker," said Loudon, and began to eat his dinner. "None better. But even Telescope can't do wonders. By the trail the hoss-band headed east. Them hosses was over a hundred, maybe a hundred an' fifty, miles away by the time our outfit got started. In a hundred an' fifty miles o' country yuh'll find lots o' hard ground an' maybe a rainstorm." "Rain ain't none likely at this time o' year." "It ain't likely, but hoss thieves with a two-day start are in luck at the go-off. An' luck comes in bunches. If they's any rain wanderin' 'round foot-free an' fancy-loose these gents will get it. An' then where's Telescope an' his trackin'?" When Tunstall had departed in search of diversion and to buy cartridges, Loudon locked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. In his mind he turned over the events of the past few days. He was sure that Sam Blakely and the 88 outfit were the prime movers in the shooting of Scotty and the stealing of Scotty's horses. Yet, save that the exceeding cleverness of procedure smacked of Blakely, there were no grounds for suspecting the 88 men. Blakely and his gang were not the only cunning horse thieves in the territory. There were dozens of others free and unhung. Nevertheless, Loudon's instinct fastened the guilt on the 88.