. If he did so, however, he
would have to bear witness to what he knew; and this, for George
Pollock's sake, he desired to avoid. He was the only one who could know
positively and directly and immediately how Plant had died. The sound of
the shots had not aroused the village. If they had been heard, no one
would have paid any attention to them; the discharge of firearms was too
common an occurrence to attract special notice. It was better to let the
discovery come in the natural course of events.

However, Bob was neither a coward nor a fool. He wanted to save George
Pollock if he could, but he had no intention of abandoning another plain
duty in the matter. Without the slightest hesitation he opened Plant's
gate and walked to the verandah where the huge, unlovely hulk huddled in
the doorway. There, with some loathing, he determined the fact that the
man was indeed dead. Convinced as to this point, he returned to the
street, and looked carefully up and down it. It was still quite
deserted.

His mind in a whirl of horror, pity, and an unconfessed, hidden
satisfaction, he returned to Auntie Belle's. The customary daylight
breakfast for the teamsters had been omitted on account of the Sabbath.
A thin curl of smoke was just beginning to rise straight up from the
kitchen stovepipe. Bob, his mouth suddenly dry and sticky, went around
to the back porch, where a huge _olla_ hung always full of spring water.
He rounded the corner to run plump against Oldham, tilted back in a
chair smoking the butt of a cigar.

In his agitation of mind, Bob had no stomach for casual conversation. By
an effort he smoothed out his manner and collected his thoughts.

"How are you, Mr. Oldham?" he greeted the older man; "when did you get
in?"

"About an hour ago," replied Oldham. His spare figure in the gray
business suit did not stir from its lazy posture, nor did the expression
of his thin sardonic face change, but somehow, after swallowing his
drink, Bob decided to revise his first intention of escaping to his
room.

"An hour ago," he repeated, when the import of the words finally
filtered through his mental turmoil. "You travelled up at night then?"

"Yes. It's getting hot on the plains."

"Got in just before daylight, then?"

"Just before. I'd have made it sooner, but I had to work my way through
the cattle."

"Where's your team?"

"I left it down at the Company's stables; thought you wouldn't mind."

"Sure not," said Bob.

The