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.”