“She’s fainted,” he gasped.
“Won’t hurt her,” Gallup assured him. “Here’s horses; git her down to my rig and take her home. Put her to bed and see that she don’t try nothin’ foolish. I’m goin’ down there.” And he pointed to the spot where he expected to find Johnny’s body. “You come along, Madeiras. We can git down there if we take our time.”
“Sí, I go; but I go alone. Señor, you are the coroner, not the sheriff. Why should I go weeth you?”
“You know why,” Aaron growled.
“I know no such theeng,” Tony argued. “You geeve me five hundret dollar. I keel him like I promise. You ought be satisfied.”
Kent’s eyes opened.
“You paid him to kill the boy?” the old man asked Aaron.
“Why not?” demanded Gallup. “We’re done with him. I want to see just how damn dead he is, though. Come on, Madeiras; you can’t afford to break with me.”
Tony laughed softly to himself. When Kent started downhill with Molly the Basque motioned to Gallup, and they set off, too. Tony’s heart was heavy. He had overplayed his hand.
The long Nevada twilight was almost over by the time the two men reached the bottom of the little side cañon into which Johnny’s body had shot.