ling but acquiescent, the banker watching schedules, uneasy, impatient. He puzzled his wife. He was not a soft man.
"What difference does it make to you whether Tom McNair kills an Indian or not?"
"He'll get life this time, or maybe worse. That's why."
It was not an answer, but she let it go at that. She thought that somehow there must be money at stake, and watched to see if he leaned back to rub that old bullet of his. She never thought it might be pity.
Tom was in the mountains when they reached Ursula. Allison told Tulloss that, and that Tom had taken a pack horse and "all the armament he owned."
"He's plumb crazy," said the Sheriff. "Not talkin' any, y'understand. Just ridin' and lookin' round."
"You get word to him I want to see him," said Mr. Tulloss grimly.
"I want to see him myself!" said the Sheriff. "But that's easier said than done."
