A few
moments later when he rode up to the out-buildings he encountered
a middle-aged Mexican who proved to be Benito Gonzalez, the range
boss.
Dave made himself known, and Benito answered his questions with
apparent honesty. No, he had seen nothing of a sorrel horse or a
strange rider, but he had just come in himself. Doubtless they
could learn more from Juan, the horse-wrangler, who was somewhere
about.
Juan was finally found, but he proved strangely recalcitrant. At
first he knew nothing, though after some questioning he admitted
the possibility that he had seen a horse of the description given,
but was not sure. More pressure brought forth the reluctant
admission that the possibility was almost a certainty.
"What horse was it?" Benito inquired; but the lad was non-
committal. Probably it belonged to some stranger. Juan could not
recollect just where or when he had seen the pony, and he was
certain he had not laid eyes upon the owner.
"Devil take the boy! He's half-witted," Benito growled.
But Dave changed his tactics. "Oiga!" he said, sternly. "Do you
want to go to jail?" Juan had no such desire. "Then tell the
truth. Was the horse branded?"
"Yes.
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