The Call
a fresh horse in the willows, for they shot the scrub half a mile up one of the canyons near the crossing. The magpies attracted my attention to it. A piece of skin a foot square had been cut out of the flank.”
“You got there before the birds.”
“It was about an even thing,” said Smith. “Anyway, we were there in time to see the horse.”
“And Sinclair was away from the ranch from Saturday noon till Sunday night?”
“A rancher living over on Stampede Creek saw the five men when they crossed Saturday afternoon. The fellow was scared and lied to me about it, but he told Wickwire who they were.”
“Now, who is Wickwire?” asked Bucks.
“You ought to remember Wickwire, George,” remarked Whispering Smith, turning to McCloud. “You haven’t forgotten the Smoky Creek wreck? Do you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all morning? You put him in your car and sent him down here to the railroad hospital and Barnhardt took care of him. That was Wickwire. Not a bad fellow, either; he can talk pretty straight and shoot pretty straight. How do I know? Because he has told me the story and I’ve seen him shoot. There, you see, is one friend that you never reckoned on. He used to be a cowboy, and I got him a job working for
335
