He had killed men, to be sure,
but never, he was thankful to say, in one of his moments of
frenzy.
The killing of men in the fierce exultation of battle, the slaying
of a criminal by an officer under stress of duty, even the taking
of life under severe personal provocation, were acts that did not
put one beyond the pale. Such blood washes off. But there were
stains of a different kind.
Dave was glad that he had swallowed "Young Ed's" incivility, not
only for his own sake, but for the sake of Alaire.
After all, he argued, it was barely possible that Ed had spoken
the truth. There WERE many sorrel horses; the evidence of those
rain-washed hoof-prints was far from conclusive; even the fact
that Urbina belonged to the Tad Lewis outfit was no more than a
suspicious circumstance. And yet, earnestly as he strove to
convince himself of these possibilities, the Ranger could not down
the conviction that the rancher had lied and that he himself was
on the right track.
It was late when he arrived at his destination, but Lewis's house
was dark, and it required some effort to awaken the owner. When
Tad at last appeared, clad in undershirt and trousers, he greeted
the Ranger with a leveled Winchester; but when Dave had made known
his identity he invited him in, though with surly reluctance.
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