“What's the matter with Bain?”
“Nothing, while he was on the job, but 'Red' Haggerty got him in 'Pony Joe's' shebang two hours ago; shot him in the back across the bar. Ned never even pulled his gun.”
“I'm sorry to hear that; what became of Haggerty?”
The marshal let his eyes rest questioningly on the doctor's face for an instant.
“Well, I happened to be just behind Ned when he went in,” he said gently, “and 'Red' will be buried on 'Boots Hill' to-morrow. I'm afraid I don't give you much chance to show your skill, Doc,” with a smile.
“If they all shot like you do, my profession would be useless. What's the matter with your other deputies?”
“Lack of nerve, principally, I reckon; ain't one of 'em worth the powder to blow him up. I'd give something just now for a fellow I had down at Dodge—he was a man. Never had to tell him when to go in; good judgment too; wasn't out hunting for trouble, but always ready enough to take his share. Old soldier in our army, Captain I heard, though he never talked much about himself; maybe you knew him—Jack Keith.”
“Well, I reckon,” in quick surprise, “and what's more to the point, he's here—slept in my room last night.”
“Keith here? In Sheridan? And hasn't even hunted me up yet? That's like him, all right, but I honestly want to see the boy. Here's your hotel. Shall you need me any longer?”
“Better step in with us, Bill,” the doctor advised, “your moral influence might aid in procuring the lady a decent room.”