“Is there anything fresh, Aleck,” said Steve, “from the township?”
“Not much,” said Aleck. “His wife has been ill ever since. She is lying at the police station, and Mrs. Dan is looking after her. She only spoke a word or two over and over in the first day—something about ’he’s dead’; and she’s been lying doing nothing but breathe and swallow the food they’ve given her since. The doctor examined him and the police, and they say he had been struck over the head from behind, and had fallen or been thrown, and broken his neck. They had black trackers on to see if there were signs of a scuffle, but too many people have been moving back and fore for any readable sign to lie.”
“Struck from behind,” repeated Steve, thoughtfully.
“Yes,” said Aleck Gault. “I was glad to hear that.”
“Glad?” said Steve, and looked at him sharply.
“Yes,” said Aleck, simply. “I knew then it wasn’t you. But the police don’t look at it that way, Steve. The doctor says the blow was struck by something blunt and light—like a stick, or the handle of a stockwhip.”
“I didn’t have a whip,” said Steve.
“Take that jacket off so I can get at you,” said Aleck. “So—steady now, till I get these rags off. No, we all swore you had no whip when the police asked us, but of course they knew we wouldn’t say anything to give you away. Man alive, that’s a shocking mess,” as he took the bandage off.
“I’d nothing to dress it with, and I’d no water to wash it properly at first,” said Steve. “It’s inflamed a little by the throb. Have you spoken to Ess—Miss Ess, of this affair? And how is she?”
“All right,” said Aleck. “Though she’s been upset, naturally enough, over the whole business. I say, you’ll need to be careful of these wounds. You don’t want to be stuck in these hills longer than you can help.”