“You can think this over now, and----”
“It ain’t goin’ to require much thinkin’,” said a raw-boned cattleman.
“These two strangers tell a straight story, and Skelton sure never shot
Quinn.”
“What about the Swede?” asked the doctor.
“I reckon the sheriff ought to apologize to him for puttin’ him in jail
at all.”
Blue scowled, but said nothing.
“It’ll be the reg’lar verdict, Doc,” nodded one of the jury. “We finds
that Quinin Quinn demises at the hands of a party, or parties, unknown.
And,” he added, “that sure as ---- ain’t settin’ no new example around
here.”
The jury nodded and got to their feet.
“You’re free, Swede,” grunted Blue savagely.
“Das goot,” nodded Swede Sam, getting to his feet. “Now Ay buy
drink--for me.”
Blue hurriedly left the room ahead of the rest, and went straight to
the War-Bonnet. Spot Easton was near the door evidently waiting for
news, but Blue silently headed straight for the private room, and
Easton followed him.
Blue flopped down in a chair and bit savagely into a plug of tobacco.
His jaws fairly quivered as he spat out the twisted piece of metal--the
trademark on the plug.
“Hook it on to ’em, Jake?” asked Easton, easing himself into a chair.
“Hook ----!” Blue’s vocal cords seemed to unhook with a bang.
“What do you mean, Jake? Didn’t the jury----?”
“To ---- with the jury! They turned the Swede loose and said that Quinn
was killed by parties unknown; that’s what happened!”
“----!” grunted Easton. “I thought you was so ---- clever.”
“Thasso?”
Blue masticated rapidly as if trying to control his temper.
“How about that rifle?” asked Easton.
Blue spat explosively.
“You want to know, do you? So do I! I had that rifle in a rack in my
office. I had three more rifles in that same rack. I went to git that
rifle this mornin’ and----”
“It wasn’t there, eh?” interrupted Easton.
“You’re ---- right it wasn’t! Neither was the other three.”
“You’re clever,” admitted Easton. “Clever as ----! What did you
leave----”
“Lemme alone!” snarled Blue. “Don’tcha ride me, Spot! If you thought of
that, why didn’t you say so? You’re so danged smart that you always see
mistakes after they happen.”
Easton made no reply to this, and a deep gloom seemed to pervade the
little room: Blue chewed mechanically, his eyes closed, a picture of
abject despair; while Easton considered his bandaged right hand, which
ached badly. His knuckles still tingled from contact with that heavy
gun.
“Hagen knows that tall jasper,” he volunteered.
“Yeah?”
Blue spat and leaned back.
“Name’s Hashknife. Hagen says he’s a fightin’ hound.”
“My ----!” exploded Blue. “D’ you need to be told?”