"
"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.
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