"Not a bit," decided Jud, who had taken the position of main arbiter.
"Well, the sheriff got to wishing Armstrong was dead so strong that it didn't seem he could stand to have him living much more. He told the folks that he was going out to see that no harm come to Armstrong from Reeve. Then he got on his hoss and went out. All the way he was thinking hard. Armstrong was the gent that was sheriff before Anderson; Armstrong was the gent that might get the job and throw him out again. Ain't that clear? Well, the sheriff gets close to the cabin and—"
He paused and slowly extended his long arm toward the sheriff. "What'd you do then?"
"Me? I heard a shot—"
"You left your hoss standing in the brush near the house," interrupted
Bull, "and you went along on foot."
"Does that sound reasonable, a gent going on foot when he might ride?" demanded the sheriff.
"You didn't want to make no noise," said Bull, and his great voice swallowed the protest of the sheriff.
Anderson cast another glance at the listeners. Plainly they were fascinated by this tale, and they were following it step by step with nods.
"You didn't make no noise, either," went on Bull Hunter. "You slipped up to the cabin real soft, and you climbed up on the east side of the house over some rocks."
"Why in reason should a man climb over rocks? Why wouldn't he go right to the door?"