Part 35 (1/2)
”All right,” replied his father. He forced himself to look up at Pan.
His eyes were warming out of deep strange shadows of pain, of horror.
”Son, I--I was kind of dazed when--when you--the fight come off.... I heard the shots, but I didn't see... Was it you who--who killed Jard Hardman?”
”No, Dad,” replied Pan, placing a steady hand on his father's shoulder.
Indeed he seemed more than physically shaken. ”But I meant to.”
”Then how--who?--” choked Smith.
”Mac New shot him,” replied Pan, hurriedly. ”Hardman accused him of double-crossing me. Mac called him. I think Hardman tried to draw.
But Mac killed him.... I got Purcell too late to save Mac.”
”Awful!” replied Smith, hoa.r.s.ely.
”Pan, I seen Purcell's eyes,” spoke up Blinky. ”Sh.o.r.e he meant to drop Mac an' you in two shots. But he wasn't quite previous enough.”
”I was--too slow myself,” rejoined Pan haltingly. ”Mac New was an outlaw, but he was white compared to Hardman.”
”Wal, it's all over. Let's kinda get set back in our saddles,” drawled Blinky. ”What'll we do with them stiffs?”
”By George, that's a stumper,” replied Pan, sitting down in the shade.
”Huh! Reckon you figger we ought to pack them back to Marco an' give them church services,” said Blinky, in disgust. ”Jest a couple of two-bit rustlers!”
”Somebody will come out here after their bodies, surely. d.i.c.k Hardman would want to--”
”Mebbe someone will, but not thet hombre,” declared Blinky. ”But I'm gamblin' Hardman's outfit won't break their necks tellin' aboot this.
Now you jest see.”
”Well, let's wait, then,” replied Pan. ”Wrap them up in tarps and lay them here in the shade.”
The trapped wild horses, cracking their hoofs and whistling in the huge corrals, did not at the moment attract Pan or wean him away from the deep unsettled condition of mind. As he pa.s.sed the corral on the way to the camp the horses moved with a trampling roar. The sound helped him toward gaining a hold on his normal self.
The hour now was near sunset and the heat of day had pa.s.sed. A cool light breeze made soft low sound in the trees.
Pan found his father sitting with bandaged head beside the campfire, apparently recovering somewhat.
”Did you take a peep at our hosses?” he asked.
”No, not yet,” replied Pan. ”I reckon I will, though, before it gets dark.”
”We've got a big job ahead.”
”That depends, Dad. If we can sell them here we haven't any job to speak of. How about it, Blink?”
”How aboot what?” inquired the cowboy, who had just come up.
”Dad's worrying over what he thinks will be a big job. Handling the horses we've caught.”
”Sh.o.r.e thet all depends. If we sell heah, fine an' dandy. The other fellar will have the h.e.l.l. Reckon, though, we want to cut out a string of the best hosses fer ourselves. Thet's work, when you've got a big drove millin' round. Sh.o.r.e is lucky we built thet mile-round corral.