Harp and Silent were coming from the doctor’s office, leading the mule that Harp had ridden in from the mine. Aside from being slightly pale Harp showed no ill-effects from his knife wound. He nodded to Grant and looked over the ruins. Silent had told him all about the explosion and fire; so he had no questions to ask.
“Must ’a’ been warm around here,” was his only comment.
“It sure was,” agreed Bill Grant. “My neck is still hot, and it was mostly all over when I got here. I’ll buy a drink.”
As they started toward the saloon, Silent stepped in beside Brick and whispered:—
“There’s a saddle at the hitch-rack with a bullet-hole in the cantle.”
“Who owns it?” asked Brick.
“Meecham, the Silverton bank cashier, rode in on it a while ago.”
“Sure it’s a bullet-hole, Silent?”
“Y’betcha!”
