Jim Hoden had forcibly declared and stated that some deviltry was afoot,
something vastly different from Blome's open intention of meeting the
Ranger.
Hoden was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Steele,
in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little room of
his restaurant, with a bullet hole in his breast, dead. No one could be
found who had heard a shot.
It had been deliberate murder, for behind the bar had been left a piece
of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil:
"All friends of Ranger Steele look for the same."
Later that day I met Steele at Hoden's and was with him when he looked
at the body and the written message which spoke so tersely of the
enmity toward him. We left there together, and I hoped Steele would let
me stay with him from that moment.
"Russ, it's all in the dark," he said. "I feel Wright's hand in this."
I agreed. "I remember his face at Hoden's that day you winged him.
Because Jim swore you were wrong not to kill instead of wing him. You
were wrong."
"No, Russ, I never let feeling run wild with my head. We can't prove a
thing on Wright."
"Come on; let's hunt him up. I'll bet I can accuse him and make him show
his hand.
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