Part 22 (2/2)
”Killed who? Where? Slow down and talk easy! Who's killed?” volleyed the group.
”Me boss! Up there on the trail with his head bashed in! Chance and me found him layin' on the trail.”
The men swung to their saddles. ”Better come along, Loring,” said Shoop, riding close to the old sheep-man. ”Looks like they was more 'n one side to this deal. And you, too, Sun.”
The riders, led by the gesticulating and excited Sundown, swung out to the road and crossed to the forest. Shoop and Hi Wingle spurred ahead while the others questioned Sundown, following easily. When they arrived at the scene of the fight, Corliss was sitting propped against a tree with Shoop and w.a.n.gle on either side of him. Corliss stared stupidly at the men.
”Who done it?” asked Wingle.
”Fadeaway,” murmured the rancher.
Loring, in the rear of the group, laughed ironically.
Shoop's gun jumped from its holster and covered the sheep-man. ”If one of your lousy herders done this, he'll graze clost to h.e.l.l to-night with the rest of your dam' sheep!” he cried.
”Easy, Bud!” cautioned Wingle. ”The boss ain't pa.s.sed over yet. Bill, you help Sinker here get the boss back home. The rest of you boys. .h.i.t the trail for the Blue. Fadeaway is like to be up in that country.”
”Ante up, Loring!” said Shoop, mounting his horse. ”I'll see your hand if it takes every chip in the stack.”
”Here, too!” chorused the riders. ”We're all in on this.”
They trailed along in single file until they came to the ford. They reined up sharply. One of them dismounted and dragged the body of Fadeaway to the bank. They grouped around gazing at the hole in Fadeaway's s.h.i.+rt.
Shoop turned the body over. ”Got it from in front,” he said, which was obvious to their experienced eyes.
”And it took a fast gun to get him,” a.s.serted Loring.
The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight on the trail and the killing of Fadeaway.
”Jack was layin' a long way from here,” said Wingle.
”When you found him,” commented Loring.
”Only one hoss crossed the ford this morning,” announced Shoop, wading across the stream.
”And Fade got it from in front,” commented a puncher. ”His tracks is headed for the Blue.”
Again the men were silent. Shoop rolled a cigarette. The splutter of the sulphur-match, as it burned from blue to yellow, startled them.
They relaxed, cursing off their nervous tension in monosyllables.
”Well, Fade's played his stack, and lost. Jack was sure in the game, but how far--I dunno. Reckon that's got anything to do with stampedin'
your sheep?” asked Wingle, turning to Loring.
Loring's deep-set eyes flashed. ”Fernando reported that a Concho rider done the job. He didn't say who done it.”
”Didn't, eh? And did Fernando say anything about doin' a job himself?”
asked Shoop.
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