Slivers Hart mentioned name after name, but the only ones who were still at the ranch were Maverick Ed Stone, Flat-foot, Shorty, Snoots Stevens, and Arizona, the cook. The rest had been replaced since Slivers left the country.
“Spur is stackin’ the deck with his own men,” Slivers commented.
“Sure. What do yuh suppose he’d do?” Allen said cheerfully. “Now, tell me about that killin’.”
“Iky Small worked for me, an’ he was so blamed lazy I kicked him off the place. I had supper with Dot Reed an’ her pa. I was goin’ to Malboro the next day to try an’ wrangle some money out of ol’ ‘Miser’ Jimpson, so I decides to cut for town an’ stay there for the night. It’s close to thirty mile from the Double R to town an’ it’s near midnight when I gets to the crossroads, where the trail branches off to my outfit, the Double B. I meets ‘Squint’ Lane, an’ he tells me ‘Doc’ Hollis has hotfooted it out to see my ma, who is plumb sick. His cayuse is fresh an’ mine is tuckered, so he offers to swap. We changes saddles, an’ I hotfoot it to my place—it’s about twenty-five mile from there.
“When I gets there, I find my ma sleepin’ peaceful an’ not sick a-tall. I gets hot under the collar at that, for I figger Squint done it as a joke. Makin’ a hombre ride fifty mile ain’t no joke, an’ so I gets mad. I throws Squint’s hoss in the corral, forks another, an’ hits for town to give Squint a drubbin’. It was close to ten in the morning when I gets near town. I meets Snoots Stevens, an’ he tells me that Iky Small was gunned, shot through the back of the head, an’ that a bunch of stranglers is lookin’ for me.
“So I hits out for the Double R, ’cause ol’ John Reed is a friend of mine, an’ I figgers he’ll tell me what to do. When I gets to the Double R, I finds Spur Treadwell an’ Dot settin’ on the front porch, an’ they tells me ol’ John ain’t home. Dot sees I’m plumb worried, so she sorta hints to Spur he ain’t wanted. Spur gets up an’ grins at me an’ says: ‘Every dog has his day.’”
“An’ because he said that yuh figger he knows what’s comin’?” Allen interrupted.
“Yep, that an’ one other thing. Every puncher was away from the ranch that day, an’ Spur turned all the hosses out of the corral, so when I see the stranglers comin’, I has to light out on a tired horse, an’ they damn near catch me.” Slivers ended his story and rolled a cigarette.
“So on the night of the killin’ yuh ain’t got no alibi whatsoever, ’cause yuh was ridin’ about the range all by your lonesome all night?”
“An’ the next day, when John Reed looks for Squint, they tells him Squint left town a week afore, an’ One-wing McCann says he got a letter from Squint postmarked up in Utah, so everybody figgers I never seen Squint an’ am lyin’. An’ that darn hoss Squint trades to me was the one Iky Small was ridin’ that night, an’ they finds it in my corral. An’ my hoss is found lame on the range, so they figgers after I kills Iky I trades hosses. If yuh can see a way out of that mess for me, I’ll say yuh ain’t only a wolf, but a whole pack of ’em.” Slivers spoke gloomily.