“All right, Ranger, speak your piece. What business do you have with us?”
“Five men robbed the bank at Morales Monday morning, and one of them was ridin’ a paint horse, a dead ringer for that one out yonder.” Bowdrie gestured toward the corral. “Where was that horse on Monday?”
“Right where he is now. He ain’t been off this place in a week.” He looked up, scowling. “Who identified that animal?”
“A dozen people. He was right out in plain sight. Nobody could’ve missed him. One who identified him was Bob Singer.”
“Singer?” Roway’s eyes flashed. “I’ll kill him!”
“No, you won’t,” Bowdrie said. “If there’s any killin’ done, I’ll do it.”