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But Vorhis was not to be stopped. "Don't you see, you doddering imbecile? If Foy had really killed Dick Marr he might have gone to any other place in the world but he wouldn't have come here." "Aha! So Foy did come here, hey?" croaked the sheriff, triumphant in his turn. "Thanks, Major, for the information, though I was sure before, humanly speaking, that he came this way."
"That's the how of it. You've been absorbing knowledge from those pardners of yours. Your talk shows it. You're changed a lot that way. Every other way you're the same old Wes!" "Now, that sounds better!" said Pringle in his most complacent tones. "I want to talk about myself, always, Stella May Vorhis; we've come thirty miles and I've heard Christopher Foy, Foy, Foy, all the way!
Some of them will hunt out the hills anyway to-morrow, if not to-day." "That's my idea of it," said Pringle. "They won't find the cave if they do," said Vorhis hopefully. "If he can get to the Bar Cross they'll see him through, once they hear his story. Not telling about that clean-up you and Kit made last night is a dead give-away." "Any chance of Foy slipping out afoot?" "Too far.
The moon magic faded and paled, mingled with the swift gray of dawn. He held his perilous way. Cold sweat stood on his brow. If Foy or a foe of Foy were on the cliff now, how easy to topple down a stone upon him! The absolute stillness was painful. A thought came to him of Stella Vorhis her laughing eyes, her misty hair, the little hand that had lingered upon his own. Such a little, little hand!
"Bronc' bucked me over on the saddle horn," explained Applegate. "Sure, I'll stay. And the Pringle person will be right here when you get back, too." "Let the Major take some supper in to Miss Vorhis," suggested Breslin. "I'll keep an eye on him. He can eat with her and cheer her up a little. This is hard lines for a girl." Lisner shrugged his shoulders.
A shadow fell across the floor. "Hands up!" said the sheriff of Dona Ana. "We want Chris Foy!" Navajo, Pima, and Hopi enjoy seven cardinal points north, east, west, south, up, down, and right here. In these and any intermediate directions from the Vorhis Ranch the diligent posse comitatus made swift and jealous search through the slow hours of afternoon.
That no such accusation came from Pringle set these able but mystified deniers entirely at a loss, left the denial high and dry. Creagan mopped his brow furtively. "Vorhis," said Sheriff Matt, red and angry from an hour's endeavor, "I think you're telling a pack of lies every word of it. You know mighty well where Foy is." The Major's gray goatee quivered.
"John Wesley Pringle!" came the answer in a furious whisper, each indignant word a missile. "How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that?" "What!" said Pringle, peering. "What! Stella Vorhis! I can hardly believe it!" "But it's oh-so-true!" said Stella, rising. "Let's go we can't talk here." "That was one awful break I made.
"I don't know who killed Dick Marr; but I do know that Creagan, Joe Espalin, and Applegate intended to kill me last night. They gave me back my sixshooter, that Ben Creagan had borrowed and it was loaded with blanks. Then they pitched onto me, and if it hadn't been for Pringle they'd have got me sure! We left town at eleven o'clock and rode straight to the Vorhis Ranch."
Dick Marr was your friend! Take your choice. You go on down, Pringle, while the sheriff is looking over the relative advantages of the two propositions. I think Miss Vorhis may have something to say to you." She came to meet him; Foy and the Major waited by the horses. "John!" she said. "Faithful John!" She sought his hands. "There now, honey don't take on so! Don't! It's all right!
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