"
"How many are they?"
"Maybe a dozen; I don't just know. I saw eight, or ten, round the
bunk-house, besides ol' Mendez an' that dude lieutenant of his, Juan
Cateras. I ain't got no use fer that duck; I allers did want ter soak
him. Then ther' was others out with the cow herd."
"They had a bunch o' cattle?"
"Maybe three hundred head, run in from Arizona. I heard that much, but
I don't talk their lingo."
"What was done with the young lady?"
Moore spat vindictively into the sand, digging a hole with his heel.
He had talked already more than he intended, but what was the
difference?
"Cateras took her," he admitted, "but I don't know whar. I rather
liked that girl; she's got a hell ov a lot o' sand, an' never put up a
whimper. I tried ter find out whar she was, but nobody'd tell me.
Then I had ter pull out."
Westcott interjected a question.
"Did you learn if there was any other prisoner there?"
"Not that I heard of. Who do yer mean?"
"A man named Cavendish."
"No, I reckon not." He turned back to the marshal.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380