“Is he dead?” inquired those in the rear.
“I don't know.”
“Well, put your hand on his heart.” “No! I—I don't want to.”
“What you afraid of?”
“Well, I just don't want to touch him, that's all. It's bad luck. YOU feel his heart.”
“You can't always tell by that.”
“How can you tell, then? Pshaw, you fellows make me sick. Here, let me get there. I'll do it.”
There was a long pause, as the other bent down and laid his hand on the cow-puncher's breast.
“Well?”
“I can't tell. Sometimes I think I feel it beat and sometimes I don't. I never saw a dead man before.”