"But there's talk of two 'gunmen.'" Kars was sitting up. His attitude displayed the urgency of his thought. "The folks all got it. I've had it all down the sidewalk."
His emotions were deeply stirred. They were displayed in the mounting flush under his weather-stained cheeks. In the hot contentiousness of his eyes. He was leaning forward with his feet tucked beneath his chair.
"Sure you have. So have I. So have the police." Bill's reply came after a moment's deliberation. "Josh Wiseman handed that out. Josh reckons he's seen them, and recognized them. But Josh is a big souse. He's seeing things 'most all the time. He figgers the feller young Alec shot up was one of them—by name Peter Hara, of 'Frisco. The other, we haven't seen, he reckons is 'Hand-out' Lal. Another 'Frisco bum. But the police have had the wires going, and they can't track fellers of that name in 'Frisco, or anywhere else. Still, it's a trail they're hanging to amongst others. And I guess they're not quitting it till they figger Josh is right for the bughouse. No," he added with a trouble that would no longer be denied, "the whole thing is, Pap's clear. There's not a thing points his way. It's the result of a dance hall brawl, and we—why, we've just got to hand on the whole pitiful racket to two lone women at the Fort."
For moments the two men looked into each other's eyes. Then Kars started up. He began to pace the soft carpet with uneven strides.
Suddenly he paused. His emotions seemed to be again under control.
"It seems that way," he said, "unless Murray starts out before us."
"Murray's quit," Bill shook his head. "He'd quit the city before this thing happened. The morning of the same day. His whole outfit pulled out with him. He doesn't know a thing of this."
"I didn't know he'd quit." Kars stood beside the centre table gazing down at the other.
"The police looked him up. They wanted to hold up the news from the boy's folks till they'd investigated. He'd been gone twenty-four hours."
"I hadn't a notion," Kars declared blankly. "I figgered to run him down at Adler's." Then in a moment his feelings overcame his restraint. "Then it's up to—me," he cried desperately. "It's up to me, and it—scares me to death. Say—that poor child. That poor little gal." Again he was pacing the room. "It's fierce, Bill! Oh, God, it's fierce!"