He paused on his tragedy, set his teeth over a sigh, and went on:  “The feller ain’t no good.  I know that from a chap that come to the house a few hours after Bard left.  Nash was his name—­”

“What!”

“Nash.  Feller built husky around the shoulders—­looks like a fighter.  Know him?”

“Pretty well.  D’you say he come to your house right after Bard left it?”

“Yep.  Why?”

“How long ago was this?”

“About three days.”

“Three days?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“You look like you was goin’ to murder some one, lady.”

Her laughter ended with a jerk and jar.

“Maybe I am.  G’wan!  Tell me some more about what Nash said.”

“Why, he didn’t say much.  Hinted around that maybe Bard had walked off with the piebald hoss he was ridin’.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Lady,” said the other a little coldly, “you say that like you was a friend of Bard’s.”

“Me?  There ain’t nobody around these parts man enough to say to my face that I’m a friend of that tenderfoot.”

“I’m glad of that.  My name’s Ralph Boardman.”

“I’m Sally Fortune.”

“Sure; I’ve heard of you—­a lot.  Say, you couldn’t tip me off where I could hit the trail of Bard?”

“Dunno.  Wait; lemme see.”

She studied, with closed eyes.  What she was thinking was that if Nash had been so close to Bard three days before he was surely on the trail of the tenderfoot and certainly that meeting in her place had not been a casual one.  She set her teeth, thinking of the promise Nash had given to her.  Undoubtedly he had laughed at it afterward.  And now Bard probably lay stretched on his back somewhere among the silent hills looking up to the pitiless brightness of the sky with eyes which could never shut.

The hollow feeling of which Sally had complained to Bert grew to a positive ache, and the tears stood up closer to her eyes.

“Wait around town,” she said in a changed voice.  “I think I heard him say something of riding out, but he’ll be back before long.  That’s the only tip I can give you, partner.”

So she rose and hurried back to the kitchen.

“Bert,” she said, “I’m off for the rest of the day.  You got to handle the place.”

He panted:  “But the heavy rush—­it ain’t started yet.”

“It’s started for me.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Nothin’.  I’m on my way.  S’long, Bert.  Back in the mornin’ bright and early.”

If she could not find Bard at least she could find Nash at the ranch of
Drew, and in that direction she headed her racing horse.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE SHOW