"From what Lindsay says the bullet holes ought to be about as high as
his arm pits," said Whitford.
"'Slim' must 'a' been standin' about here," guessed Muldoon,
illustrating his theory by taking the position he meant. "The bullets
would hit the partition close to the center, wouldn't they?"
Beatrice had gone straight to the plank wall. "They're not here," she
told them.
"Must be. According to Lindsay's story the fellow was aiming straight
at it."
"Well, they're not here. See for yourself."
She was right. There was no evidence whatever that any bullets had
passed through the partition. They covered every inch of the cross
wall in their search.
"Lindsay must have been mistaken," decided Whitford, hiding his keen
disappointment. "This man Collins couldn't have been firing in this
direction. Of course everything was confusion. No doubt they shifted
round in the dark and--"
He stopped, struck by an odd expression on the face of his daughter.
She had stooped and picked up a small fragment of shaving from the
floor. Her eyes went from it to a plank in the partition and then back
to the thin crisp of wood.
"What is it, honey?" asked Whitford.
The girl turned to Muldoon, alert in every quivering muscle. "That
express wagon--the one leaving the house as we drove up--Did you notice
it?"
"Number 714," answered Tim promptly.
"Can you have it stopped and the man arrested? Don't you see? They've
rebuilt this partition.
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