A plump man in a Palm Beach suit got in front of me, taking my attention.
“I am Mr. Turney of the Orilla Colony Company,” he introduced himself. “Am I to understand that you have not made an arrest since you have been here?”
This was the bird who had advertised me! I didn’t like that, and I didn’t like his round, aggressive face.
“Yes,” I confessed.
“There have been two murders in two days,” he ran on, “concerning which you have done nothing, though in each case the evidence seems clear enough. Do you think that is satisfactory? Do you think you are performing the duties for which you were employed?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Let me tell you that it is not at all satisfactory,” he supplied the answers to his own questions. “Neither is it satisfactory that you should have employed this man”—stabbing a plump finger in Milk River’s direction—“who is notoriously one of the most lawless men in the county. I want you to understand clearly that unless there is a distinct improvement in your work—unless you show some disposition to do the things you were engaged to do—that engagement will be terminated!”
“Who’d you say you are?” I asked, when he had talked himself out.
“ Mr. Turney, general superintendent of the Orilla Colony.”
“So? Well, Mr. General Superintendent Turney, your owners forgot to tell me anything about you when they employed me. So I don’t know you at all. Any time you’ve got anything to say to me, you turn it over to your owners, and if it’s important enough, maybe they’ll pass it on to me.”