“Why don’t you wait a little longer? You ain’t tongue-tied, be yuh?”
“You told me to shut up.”
“Little good comes from tellin’ you.”
The old man grunted as he crawled beneath the bed to recover the hat.
“It’s a hat, all right,” he grumbled. “His hat, no doubt. Ain’t a mark on it, though.” He held it up for his jury to gaze at it. “Jest about proves what I contend. The man wanted to die unidentified.”
Tony Madeiras’s eyes bulged as he saw the hat Gallup held aloft. Pushing his way forward he took the hat in his hand. Gallup watched him closely.
“Son of a gun!” Madeiras exclaimed slowly and turned to face his friends. “I change my min’ about those daid man. I know thees hat!”
“What?” exclaimed Johnny.
“Sí. I know thees hat. Only t’ree, four days ago I see eet.”
“Yeh!” There was open doubt of the Basque puncher’s word in the coroner’s voice. “You remember a hat without a band or mark on it that you saw three or four days ago? It ain’t even a grown-up hat. It’s just a little runt of a thing. But you remember it, Madeiras?”