Part 25 (2/2)
”I was jest fixin' to turn in,” Teeters hinted. ”Last night I didn't sleep good. I tossed and thrashed around until half-past eight 'fore I closed my eyes.”
”I won't keep you up, then. I come over on business. Bowers's my name.
I'm a-workin' for Miss Prentice. I'm a sheepherder myself by perfession.”
Teeters received the announcement with equanimity, so he continued:
”Along about two o'clock this afternoon I got an idea that nigh knocked me over. I bedded my sheep early and took a chance on leavin' them, seein' as it was on her account I wanted to talk to you. You're a friend of her'n, ain't you?”
”To the end of the road,” Teeters replied soberly.
Bowers nodded.
”So somebody told me. Are you goin' to town anyways soon?”
”To-morrow.”
”Good! Will you take a message to Lingle?”
Teeters a.s.sented.
”Tell him for me that the night of the murder there was a onery breed-lookin' feller that smelt like a piece of Injun-tanned buckskin a settin' in Doc Fussel's drug store. He acted oneasy, as I come to think it over, and he went out jest before the killin'. I never thought of it at the time, but he might have been the feller that done it.”
”I'll tell Lingle, but I don't think there's anything in it.”
”Why?”
Teeters' eyes narrowed.
”Because I know where the gun come from!”
Bowers looked his astonishment.
”I'd swear to that gun stock on a stack of Bibles,” Teeters continued.
”It was swelled from layin' in water, and a blacksmith riveted it. The blacksmith died last summer or by now we'd a had his affidavit.”
”Ain't that sick'nin'!” Bowers referred to the exasperating demise of the blacksmith.
”Anyway, Lingle's workin' like a horse on the case, and I think he'll clear it up directly. How's she standin' it?”
”Like a soldier.”
”She's got sand.”
”She's made of it,” laconically, ”and I aims to stay by her.”
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