He went through the grove and
directly up the path to Slone's cabin. It was empty, just as Bostil expected
to find it.
The bars of the corral were down. Both Slone's horses were gone. Presently
Bostil saw the black horse Nagger down in Brackton's pasture.
There were riders in front of Brackton's. All spoke at once to Bostil, and he
only yelled for Brackton. The old man came hurriedly out, alarmed.
"Where's this Slone?" demanded Bostil.
"Slone!" ejaculated Brackton. "I'm blessed if I know. Ain't he home?"
"No. An' he's left his black hoss in your field."
"Wal, by golly, thet's news to me. . . . Bostil, there's been strange doin's
lately." Brackton seemed at a loss for words. "Mebbe Slone got out because of
somethin' thet come off last night. . . . Now, Joel Creech an'--an'--"
Bostil waited to hear no more. What did he care about the idiot Creech? He
strode down the lane to the corrals. Farlane, Van, and other riders were
there, leisurely as usual. Then Holley appeared, coming out of the barn. He,
too, was easy, cool, natural, lazy.
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