“But where’s Chris?” demanded Stella, trembling.

“We have none of us seen Chris—­you want to remember that.  You won’t have to lie, Stella—­you didn’t see him.  Pringle, I bank on you.”

“Sure!  I can lie and stick to it, though I’m sadly out of practice,” said Pringle.  “But hadn’t we better fix up the same history to tell?  And where’s your man Hargis that stays here?  Will he do?”

“Unsaddle and I’ll tell you.  We’ve only got a few minutes.  I saw the dust of them coming down from the north as I drove in this bunch of saddle horses.  Some of them went up by train to Upham, you know.  Hargis has gone to the round-up, and I’m just as well pleased.  I’m not sure he can be trusted.  We are to know not the first word of what has happened.  We haven’t seen Chris and haven’t heard of the murder.  Come in—­we’ll start dinner and be taken by surprise.  Pringle, throw your gun over on the bunk.  Stella, get that look off your face.  After you hear the news you can look any old way and it’ll be natural enough.  But you’ve got to be unconcerned and unsuspicious when they first come.”

He started a fire.  Stella set about preparing dinner.

“Who brought the news?” she asked.

“Joe Cowan—­and a relay.  Someone rode to Jeff Isaack’s ranch as fast as ever a horse could go.  Jeff came to Quartzite; Dodd passed the word on to Goldenburg’s and Cowan came here.  At every ranch they drove all the fresh saddle horses out of the way, so a posse couldn’t get a remount without losing time.  Kitty Foy has got good friends, and they don’t believe he’d shoot any man in the back.”

“And Foy’s drifted with Cowan?”

“He hadn’t a chance to get clear,” said the Major.  “We had no fresh horses here.  They’ve sworn in a small army of deputies.  Nearly a hundred men are out hunting for him by this time.  One posse was to go up the San Andres on the east, leaving a man at every waterhole.  The sheriff wired for a special train, took a carload of saddle horses and dropped a couple of men off at every station.  At Upham the rest of them were to unload and string out across the Jornado, so as to cut Chris off from the Bar Cross round-up at Alaman.  It’s some of that bunch I saw coming, I guess.  And the others were to scatter out and come up the middle of the plain.  They’ll drag the Jornado with a fine-toothed comb.”

“How’s he to get away, then?”

“Cowan took Kit’s horse and led his own, which was about give out.  He turned back east, up a draw where he won’t be seen unless somebody’s right on top of him.  Eight or ten miles out he’ll turn Foy’s horse loose; he’ll carry the extra saddle on a ways and drop it in a washout.  They’ll find Foy’s horse and think he’s roped a fresh one.  Then Cowan will start up a fresh bunch of mares and raise big dust.  He will ride straight to the first posse he sees, claiming he’s run his horse down chasing the mares.  That’ll let him out—­maybe.”