"Here, too!" chorused the riders. "We're all in on this."
They trailed along in single file until they came to the ford. They reined up sharply. One of them dismounted and dragged the body of Fadeaway to the bank. They grouped around gazing at the hole in Fadeaway's shirt.
Shoop turned the body over. "Got it from in front," he said, which was obvious to their experienced eyes.
"And it took a fast gun to get him," asserted Loring.
The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight on the trail and the killing of Fadeaway.
"Jack was layin' a long way from here," said Wingle.
"When you found him," commented Loring.
"Only one hoss crossed the ford this morning," announced Shoop, wading across the stream.
"And Fade got it from in front," commented a puncher. "His tracks is headed for the Blue."
Again the men were silent. Shoop rolled a cigarette. The splutter of the sulphur-match, as it burned from blue to yellow, startled them. They relaxed, cursing off their nervous tension in monosyllables.