Holley showed genuine surprise and distress.  The other riders echoed Bostil’s last word.  Bostil lowered the gun.

“I reckon what saves you is you’re the only tracker thet’d have a show to find this cussed Slone.”

Holley now showed no sign of surprise, but the other riders were astounded.

“Lucy’s run off with Slone,” added Bostil.

“Wal, if she’s gone, an’ if he’s gone, it’s a cinch,” replied Holley, throwing up his hands.  “Boss, she double-crossed me same as you! . . .  She promised faithful to stay in the house.”

“Promises nothin’!” roared Bostil.  “She’s in love with this wild-hoss wrangler!  She met him last night!”

“I couldn’t help thet,” retorted Holley.  “An’ I trusted the girl.”

Bostil tossed his hands.  He struggled with his rage.  He had no fear that Lucy would not soon be found.  But the opposition to his will made him furious.

Van left the group of riders and came close to Bostil.  “It ain’t an hour back thet I seen Slone ride off alone on his red hoss.”

“What of thet?” demanded Bostil.  “Sure she was waitin’ somewheres.  They’d have too much sense to go together. . . .  Saddle up, you boys, an’ we’ll—­”

“Say, Bostil, I happen to know Slone didn’t see Lucy last night,” interrupted Holley.

“A-huh!  Wal, you’d better talk out.”

“I trusted Lucy,” said Holley.  “But all the same, knowin’ she was in love, I jest wanted to see if any girl in love could keep her word. . . .  So about dark I went down the grove an’ watched fer Slone.  Pretty soon I seen him.  He sneaked along the upper end an’ I follered.  He went to thet bench up by the biggest cottonwood.  An’ he waited a long time.  But Lucy didn’t come.  He must have waited till midnight.  Then he left.  I watched him go back—­seen him go up to his cabin.”

“Wal, if she didn’t meet him, where was she?  She wasn’t in her room.”

Bostil gazed at Holley and the other riders, then back to Holley.  What was the matter with this old rider?  Bostil had never seen Holley seem so strange.  The whole affair began to loom strangely, darkly.  Some portent quickened Bostil’s lumbering pulse.  It seemed that Holley’s mind must have found an obstacle to thought.  Suddenly the old rider’s face changed—­the bronze was blotted out—­a grayness came, and then a dead white.

“Bostil, mebbe you ’ain’t been told yet thet—­thet Creech rode in yesterday. . . .  He lost all his racers!  He had to shoot both Peg an’ Roan!”

Bostil’s thought suffered a sudden, blank halt.  Then, with realization, came the shock for which he had long been prepared.

“A-huh!  Is thet so? . . .  Wal, an’ what did he say?”

Holley laughed a grim, significant laugh that curdled Bostil’s blood.  “Creech said a lot!  But let thet go now. . . .  Come with me.”

Holley started with rapid strides down the lane.  Bostil followed.  And he heard the riders coming behind.  A dark and gloomy thought settled upon Bostil.  He could not check that, but he held back impatience and passion.