"She hes told you, I guess," said he, "that the case is off."
Apache shook his head.
"Pshaw!" said the sheriff. "What she want with you?"
"To hear how Mr. Pinkerton died."
"But she knew."
"Yes," said Apache Kid, "as a savage saw it."
The sheriff puckered his heavy mouth and raised his eyes.
"Sure!" said he. "That's what. Pretty coarse, I guess. You would kind o' put the limelight on the scene."
"Sir, sir!" said Apache Kid. "We have just come from her."
"I beg your pardon, gen'lemen," he said. "I understand what you mean; I know—women and music, and especially them songs about Mother, and the old farm, and such, jest makes me feel too, at times. I understand, boys, and I don't mock you none. And that jest makes me think it might be sort of kind in you if you was goin' out and gettin' them cheerin' boys out there some ways off, lest she hears them cheerin' an' it kind o' jars on her."