The gossipers had no direct evidence, but a great deal of opinion was whispered back and forth in corrals, on porches, and in the saddle. The sentiment was general that Tait had for a long time laid himself open to such an end. But Gilroy was a good citizen, not turbulent, friendly to his neighbours. His murder stirred a deep but not too loudly expressed resentment. Meanwhile Sheriff Matson moved about his business of gathering evidence with relentless singleness of purpose. He, too, heard whispers and followed them to sources. He rode up and down the country piecing this and that together until he had a net of circumstance encircling the guilty ones. From one of the herders whom McCoy had saved he gathered valuable information. The man had been awakened by the sound of firing. He had run to the door of the wagon in time to see Gilroy shot down. Tait was already down. The herder had been saved by one of the attackers who had stood between him and another and prevented the second man from murdering him. The first man had called the other one Hal. The raiders were all masked and he had not recognized any of them. “I ain’t lost any of them raiders, Mr. Sheriff,” the man said with a kind of dogged weakness. “If I know too much, why someone takes a shot in the dark at me an’ that’s the last of Johnnie Mott. No, sir, I done told you too much already. I was plumb excited, an’ maybe I ain’t got it jest the way it was. He mighta called the other fellow Hardy instead of Hal.” “He might have, but he didn’t, Mott. Keep yore mouth shut and you don’t need to worry about gettin’ shot. I’ll look after you if you’ll stay right here in town. You can hold down that job I got you as janitor at the court house. Nobody’s gonna hurt you any.” One of the whispers Matson heard took him to Dunc King. That young man had, as usual, been talking too much. The sheriff found him at his mother’s ranch mending a piece of broken fence. “’Lo, Dunc. How’s everything?” the officer asked by way of greeting. The young man looked at him with suspicion and alarm. “Why, all right, I reckon. How’s cases with you, Sheriff?” “I hear you had a little talk with Hal Falkner the night of the raid. Do you remember exactly what he said to you?” “Why, no. I don’t remember a thing about it,” the young man returned uneasily. He knew his tongue had once more tripped him up. “You will if you think hard, don’t you reckon? You remembered it well enough to tell Flanders and Mrs. Henson. I’ll start you off. Falkner an’ you were discussing the reason why so many men left camp after supper. He told you Larry Silcott had told him Tait was across the dead line again. Recollect that?” “Why, no. I don’t guess I do, Sheriff.” “You’d better, Dunc, onless you want to get into mighty serious trouble.” “Sho! Nothing to that, Sheriff. Nothing a-tall. I might’ve got to shootin’ off my mouth the way I sometimes do. Kinda playin’ like I was on the inside, y’ understand.”