to do but smoke his pipe and look at Turk, Steele found also that he was pondering a good deal more upon Ed Hurley's strange behaviour than upon that of Embry or Banks. Hurley wasn't the man to ignore a direct order like this …
"I'm going down to the meadow where the horses are," he said suddenly. "I want to see if Ed took one of them."
"Take your gun then," advised Rice briefly, "an' look out for skunks; the woods is full of 'em lately."
Steele nodded his understanding, pocketed his automatic freshly filled, and went out. In the little pasture, though he searched half an hour, he found neither Hurley's horse nor his own. Here was fresh food for perplexity.
"Looks as though he took both of them," he pondered. "He wouldn't do that."
A faint sound which at first he could not locate brought him to an abrupt halt. A man's voice, he thought, coming from a distance, barely audible? Was it, perchance, Hurley calling?
It came again and he knew now, a low moaning as of a man in great bodily pain. And the voice came from out yonder somewhere toward the centre of the meadow. …
He found him a moment later. It was Ed Hurley, lying on his back, Steele's old grey hat on the ground beside him.
"Ed!" cried Steele, going down on his knees. "Ed, old man! What's wrong?
