Having taken this money and put it into his own pockets, Mr. Cook arose.
“If you don’t mind,” suggested Roy, “I’d like to look for something.”
Mr. Cook raised his eyebrows.
“We’re pretty straight about one thing out here,” he replied. “We’ll kill a man all right, an’ sometimes for mighty little provocation, but after he’s dead, what’s his is his. Of course, that isn’t what you mean, but you ought to know that we’re touchy on the point o’ molestin’ the dead. Wooley an’ the coroner’ll do what’s necessary now. It’s up to them to say whether I was justified.”
“I couldn’t tell who shot first,” exclaimed Roy innocently.
“You couldn’t?” answered Mr. Cook, with a smile.
“I didn’t hear but one shot.”
“There were two, all right,” added Mr. Cook, with another grim smile. Without further explanation, he held out his left arm. As his loose coat was extended, the boy saw two small, ragged holes where Hassell’s bullet had gone in and out of the folds of the garment just along the left side of the wearer’s body.
“What’ll the coroner decide?” continued Roy, whose tense, straining muscles were just relaxing into nervousness. “I can’t say Hassell fired first. And I wouldn’t think you’d know—hardly.”