They rode silently for miles. Rutter was one after the Ranger’s own heart, taciturn, efficient in his business. Staring at his companion’s broad back, Ware’s Kid nodded approval. He thought of what the girl had said--of her father’s repressed sorrow over his partner’s death. He could understand Rutter’s vengefulness toward Dell Spreen, but he hoped, before the day’s end, to show the O-Bar owner his error, to prove that Spreen could not have murdered Eph Carson. “If yuh’re right about this height business,” Rutter growled suddenly, “I don’t know what we’re goin’ to do about it. Too long ago, now. Not that I’m admittin’ yuh’re right! But just in case yuh are, how can we find out where these fellas--Curly Gonzales an’ Lamson an’ Nichols--was that day? Fella don’t always recollect just what he was doin’ three months ago. By George!” He whirled sideway in the saddle. “That mornin’, me an’ August Koenig--one o’ my hands--was ridin’ nawth o’ the house nine-ten mile. An’ we met Lamson headin’ for Elizario! Recollect, now. August an’ Lamson come near mixin’ it, ’count August he was askin’ about some widder that lives in Elizario an’ Lamson flew off the handle! By George!” “What kind o’ fella’s Lamson?” inquired Ware’s Kid. “Oh, same’s most. Gits kind o’ crazy spells. Been kicked on the head a long time ago by a bronc’ an’ once in a while he flies up. But he’s a good puncher an’ I don’t know why anybody’ll think he’d shoot Eph Carson. Lamson’s seen trouble--seen it fair an’ square, through the smoke. No-o, I wouldn’t put him down for that kind o’ killer.” “Yuh found Carson right after noon, didn’t yuh?” “Yeh. I got fidgety, him not comin’ in the day I figgered. So when me an’ August got back to the house, an’ Eph hadn’t come in yet, I took August an’ Yavapai Wiggins an’ we rode out. Found Eph ’long about two o’clock, lyin’ in the trail. Seven thousand, about, he was packin’. All gone.” “Mostly yo’s, they say.” “’Bout four thousand,” Rutter nodded gloomily. “But ’t wasn’t the money riled me so. Old Eph, he never knowed what hit him. Never had a chanct. Nary chanct to git his six-shooter out. Like I told yuh then, right after it happened. I figgered Dell Spreen ’cause he’d hung around the ranch three days, waitin’ for Eph. Wouldn’t tell nobody what he wanted. Just looked mean. An’ packed his cantinas an’ hightailed it that very mawnin’. I gethered yuh never found the money on him?” “Fo’ dollars, ’bout,” shrugged Ware’s Kid. They came to the Castle and reined in the animals on the spot where the murderer of Eph Carson had waited. Silently, Simeon Rutter stared at the crotch in the rock wall in which the assassin had rested his rifle-barrel. Slowly, as unwilling even now to concede weight to the theory the Ranger had advanced tentatively, he nodded. “The’ wasn’t no hawss-tracks closer’n that cat-claw yonder,” he admitted.