“What do yuh want now?”
“Watch ’em, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife.
Hashknife takes a sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket and
holds the paper against the side of the building, while he writes.
He finally finishes and goes over to Sol Vane and hands him the
paper.
“Have your council sign that, Sol; and then you put your name at the
bottom.”
“What is it?” asks Sillman.
“To whom it may concern,” reads Sol Vane kinda slow-like. “The
undersigned hereby declares that Buddy Sillman is sole owner of the
ranch where his folks lived and he owns everything on that ranch.
His dad’s name was Eph Sillman and he was killed by Cale Ames on
June 3, when Eph was trying to get medicine for his sick wife.
“We also admits that the folks of Willer Crick wouldn’t let Eph
Sillman have a doctor for his wife and that they ain’t no better
than murderers, ’cause she died. We hereby agree to see that the
ranch is run right and the money turned over to Buddy. We hereby
agree to abolish all our old laws and live like the rest of the
world. We hereby sign our names.”
“You’re crazy!” wails Sim Sellers from where he sets in the street.
“We’ll never sign that.”
The rest of ’em shake their heads.
“Yuh can’t get away with nothin’ like that,” says Sol. “We aims to
live as we please. Yuh can’t set there and keep us rounded up
forever.”
“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “go up into the hall and see if yuh can’t
find some Willer Crick records.”
* * * * *
They has that room fixed up like a court-room, with kind of a place
for the judges and all that kind of thing. Cale Ames is setting on
the floor near a window, holding onto the side of his head. I looked
him over for weapons, but he’s harmless.
On the judge’s desk is a pile of books and papers. I takes a look at
the biggest book, and it’s labeled—