“Don’t forget the man who comes in once a year—and he’s due before so very long again—the man who sends her that regular letter from New York and who comes across the continent to see her?”
“Mr. Lawrence Arnold? Why, he’s her business partner—owns a full half-interest in Sky Line.”
“Well? You watch Kate’s face when you see them together again this summer.”
“Hell!” said McKane again in that resigned voice, “how’d you ever get elected with those reasoning powers of yours?”
“Oh—all right. But stay clear of Cattle Kate’s fringes—for some day there’s going to be the prettiest blow-up ever seen in the cattle country of the Deep Heart Hills—and Kate’s going mile high on the explosion.”
“If you’re so damned bright as a sheriff why don’t you busy yourself with trying to find out who stole that last bunch of steers from Conlan a month ago? The old man’s half crazy with the loss. Yes—and that ninety head from Bossick—and the ones run off Jermyn’s range last year? It looks like there’s plenty he-man stuff around Nameless to interest your keen powers of perception without picking on a woman.”
The sheriff was tying his sack of purchases on behind his saddle and didn’t look round.
“I’ll never find those cattle, McKane—nor will anyone else—this side of cow-heaven,” he said as he mounted, “but they, and their manner of disappearance, along with a few other things are all under that magnifying glass of mine. I think their ghosts will be in at that blow-up.”
“That’s rustler talk, Price,” said the trader shortly.
“Sure,” returned Selwood as he rode away.