Tom looked away with disfavor in his face. “They might have got Emerson into a hell of a scrape. Suppose anybody but us had found Wellesly the other day! Everybody would have believed that Emerson had ordered these two measly scamps to do what they did!”
“That’s so,” Nick replied, “but that’s all straight now, and they are past doin’ any more harm, and it ain’t a square deal to let a fellow be eat up by coyotes.”
Tom looked down into the dead, staring eyes and soberly replied: “I guess you’re right, Nick, and I sure reckon Emerson would say we ought to do it.”
They carried both bodies to the bottom of the canyon and up the bloody trail until they came to a steep-sided, narrow chasm which yawned into the wider gulch. There they put their burdens down, side by side, and decently straightened the limbs, folded the hands, and closed the eyes of the two dead men.
“Now,” said Nick, “we’ll pile rocks across the mouth of the gulch, and then they’ll be safe enough, for no coyote is going to jump down from the top of these walls.”
Tom made no answer. He was standing with his hands in his pockets looking at the two bloody, mangled corpses.
“Nick, don’t you-all think we’d better say something over these fellows, too? It ain’t the square deal to put ’em away without a word, even if they were the worst scrubs in creation. You-all better say something, Nick, like you did before.”
Tom took off his hat, without even a glance at his companion, and bent his head. Ellhorn also doffed his sombrero and bent forward in reverent attitude, ready to begin.
“Good Lord,” he said, and then he stopped and hesitated so long that Tuttle looked up to see what was the matter. “Go on, Nick,” he urged in a low tone.
“Good Lord, Ye’d better do as Ye think best about lettin’ ’em fry in their own fat—so long. They were scrubs, that’s straight, but they’re dead now, and can’t do any more harm. Good Lord, we hope—Ye’ll see Your way to have mercy on their souls. Amen.”