“A sheepherder. He says they ain’t no hell—nor nothin’.”
“The po-oo-or soul! Is there any way I could talk to him?”
“I was hopin’ you’d say that, but I didn’t like to ask you, seein’ as he’s a sheepherder.”
“They’re human beings, Clarence,” reproved Mrs. Taylor.
“I’ve heerd that questioned,” declared Teeters, “but anyhow, a person with a heart in him no bigger than a bullet would have to be sorry to see this feller goin’ to his everlasting punishment without repentin’. He’s done murder.”
“Murder!”
“I’ll tell you about it to-morrow on the way over.”
“Where is he?”
“At Kate Prentice’s—at headquarters.”