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Possibly rustlers sold them to me. Maybeso. I ask no questions." "Nor I," added Yeager promptly. "At least, not many. I eat the beef and find it good. You ought to have got a good price for a nice fat bunch like that, Harrison." "What d'you mean by that?" The man's fists were clenched. The rage was mounting in him. "Forget it, Harrison! You've quit the company.
Prove it!" retorted Shorty angrily. "Some day not now." Crawford turned to Sanders. "What about the horse you looked at, Dave?" "Same one we've been trailing. The one with the broken shoe." "That yore horse, Shorty?" "Maybeso. Maybe not." "You've been havin' company here lately," Crawford went on. "Who's yore guest?" "You seem to be right now.
He stared at her, a queer look of puzzled astonishment in his eyes. Jessie became aware of his gaze and flashed on him a look of annoyance. "Have you seen a ghost, Mr. Lemoine?" she asked. "By gar, maybeso, Miss Jessie. The picture in the locket, it jus' lak you same hair, same eyes, same smile." "What picture in what locket?"
What called him out of town on a hurry-up trip of a few hours?" "Don't know. Do you?" "No, but I'm a good guesser." "Meanin'?" "Bully West. Holed up somewhere out in the woods. A fellow came in this morning and got Whaley, who snowshoed back with him at once." Tom nodded agreement. "Maybeso. Whaley was away five or six hours. That means he probably traveled from eight to ten miles out."
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