"Don't," Bass entreated. "Yes, I reckon she did, Lafe. She must have loved him a heap."
"Women are queer," said Lafe.
"Say," he said suddenly again, "if you were in the bushes there, you must have seen the killing. Why didn't you speak out?"
His companion flushed and looked uncomfortable. Luckily it was dark.
"No, I didn't see who stabbed him, at all. I didn't see Baptismo there. I only saw Florence coming along the path. And I'd lent her my knife, and—"
Both were silent a long time. Their ponies went steadily forward, their riders' legs occasionally touching. Finally Bass roused.
"What beats me," he said, "is how you happened to pick on Baptismo."
"Why," said Lafe, in a satisfied voice, "that was simple. I happened to sing that song. You know—'Oh, bury me not'—the one poor ol' Jerry was singing when Baptismo sneaked up behind. I was shuffling the cards and happened to look up sudden. And when I saw his face, I knew right away."