He told what had taken place the preceding day, omitting no detail. “They were not close enough for the shotgun to do much damage,” he concluded. “Where those bullets came from, I can’t pretend to guess.”
Vesty Gallagher bit his pipestem thoughtfully, watching Hardrock from screwed-up, sharp little eyes.
“You’re straight,” he said suddenly. “I’m with ye. So that’s settled. Now hark ye here, me lad! I’ll have a word wi’ the priest, and he’ll have a word wi’ the boys, and they’ll go slow. But if I was you, I’d come down to the sawmill with me and spend a while there.”
Hardrock smiled. “Thanks, Vesty, but I can’t do it. Surely there must be some way of telling who shot those two fellows?”
“There’s many would ha’ liked to do it,” said old Gallagher. “The two of them was a bad lot—them and the Dunlevy boys hung together. Ye’ll have trouble there. Connie Dunlevy and Hughie will guess that ye had a hand in the shootin’, and they’ll go for ye. Better ye come down home with me, lad.”
“Can’t. Promised Matt Callahan I’d come back to Hog Island and settle matters with him.” The gray eyes of Hardrock twinkled. “I said I’d put him off my land if he wasn’t reasonable, and I’ll do it.”
“Glory be! Have ye been fighting with Matt Big Mary? And I hear Hughie’s over there—”
Hardrock related a version of his encounter on the island—a version which very tactfully omitted any mention of Nelly Callahan. Old Vesty chuckled and scratched his red whiskers and then chuckled again.
“Praise be, it’s fine to hear of some one who’s got the guts to stand up to them Callahans!” he exclaimed. “Betwixt ’em, the Callahans and Dunlevys have been runnin’ too high a hand and drinkin’ too much o’ Jimmy Basset’s moonshine. What came ye to town for?”
“To find who it was had run me down, and make ’em pay for my motorboat,” said Hardrock. “But now I’ll reconsider the program. It wont do to have everybody know what happened, or I’d be—”