"Gentlemen, I'll have to ask you-all to leave. Clear the bar, gentlemen, please. The inquest'll be to-morrow morning over in Bob Turner's place. Step lively, gentlemen. I've got a pile of things to do."
I was shoved from the saloon with the others and went only too willingly. Shortly afterwards three men bore the remains of Walton out of the Fashion and laid them in an empty room above Turner's store. The proprietor was justice of the peace and would sit as coroner.
Badger filled the court-room on the morrow. The crowd overflowed into the street, and there was much jostling and frantic efforts at peering over the heads of neighbors; also, requests to witnesses to speak louder, that all might hear. Follows a rough transcript of the evidence presented.
Bartender.—It was ten o'clock. There was nobody in the bar except Dan Boone—he was playing solitaire in the far corner—and Jeff Thomas, and a fat party unknown to him. The fat party had come in with the sheriff and sat over against the window. Jeff was alone and was monkeying with his fingers on the table—sort of playing tunes. He, the bartender, was reading a letter from a lady who lived in Silver City—a right nice, respectable lady—when Bud came in on the jump. He yelled something at Jeff and they took to shooting. That's all he saw, because he hid behind the beer-keg immediately. Yes, he had heard shots. Four, he thought, but he could not be sure. The bartender rubbed his bald spot and added that there seemed to be five, but he would not swear to that—they came so fast.
Daniel Boone.—He had seen nothing at all, but had heard shots. No, he could not say how many. Then, when the sheriff came back, he saw Bud Walton lying dead and Jeff standing over him, a little to one side.
Myself.—A boy had summoned the sheriff to the express office while he and I were seated in the Fashion, playing dominoes. Soon afterwards a man entered quickly—yes, it was the man whose body lay upstairs—and yelled at Thomas that he had got him now. Thomas was alone at a table in the center of the room. He was strumming with his fingers on the table. The visitor fired first; then there was another shot, and he dropped to the floor. After he fell, Thomas shot twice. He missed him both times.
Tommy Turner.—Bud Walton had sent him with a message to the sheriff in the Fashion. The message was that Lafe was wanted at the express office right away.
Thereupon the coroner requested the survivor for his version of the fight.
Jeff Thomas.—He was waiting in the Fashion for one of the Lazy L boys to come along. They had a horse trade on. Bud Walton appeared at the door. He pulled a gun on him. Bud got the first shot in—he was positive of that. He fired once and Walton went down. Not being certain Bud was really done for, he pulled a couple of times more, but thought he had missed.
Yes, they had long been enemies. Walton was always abusing him behind his back. He had made threats. Some of his friends had strung up Tom Rooker, too. Tom wouldn't never harm a fly in his life. Only the day before, Bud had told some men Jeff knew, that he would get Thomas within forty-eight hours. So witness had asked for a permit to carry a gun. Mr. Turner knew about this. He had given the permit.