“Well,” sez Olaf, “we came up short on the round-up, an’ the old man raised Cain about it, an’ sent us out to hunt for strays. Badger-face split us into pairs, an’ made me an’ Bud Fisher work together. We saw some cows up on a ledge where we couldn’t ride to; so we left the hosses below, an’ climbed to see if they had our brand. If they had, we intended to ride around and get ’em. If not it would save half a day. Bud Fisher had a rifle along, hopin’ to get a mountain sheep, an’ he insisted on takin’ it with him. He climbed up on a ledge, an’ I passed up the rifle to him. It was a long stretch, an’ I passed it muzzle first. The hammer caught on a point of rock, an’ shot him through the stomach. I didn’t bear him any ill will any more—I ran down to the hosses, an’ brought up the saddle-blankets an’ the slickers, an’ made him as comfortable as I could. Then I hunted up Badger-face an’ told him. When we got back he was dead. This is the truth.”
“I think it is,” sez the Friar.
“Aw rot!” sez Badger-face. “Come on, now, an’ finish it. Every one knows how they hated each other; and it’s plain enough that when the Swede here got the chance, he just put Bud out o’ the way, an’ Bud was one o’ the finest boys the’ ever was in the world—always full o’ fun an’ frolic; while Olaf has allus been sour an’ gloomy.”
Most men are as sappy as green grain, an’ they bow whichever way the wind blows. The Cross brand punchers all looked extremely sad when Badger-face spoke o’ what a royal good feller Bud Fisher had been, an’ when he stopped, they all glared at Olaf as friendly as wolves, especially a skinny feller by the name of Dixon, who had the neck and disposition of a snake.
“If you thought ’at Olaf an’ Fisher hated each other, why did you make ’em work together?” asked the Friar; and the Cross brand punchers pricked up their ears an’ looked pointedly at Badger-face.
“I thought they had made it up,” sez Badger-face, surprised into takin’ the defensive.
“I have noticed that you are likely to jump hasty at conclusions,” sez the Friar, speakin’ with tantalizin’ slowness. He was a fisher of men, all right, the Friar was; and just then he was fishin’ for those Cross brand punchers. “Did Bud speak before he died, Olaf?” he asked impartially.
Olaf hung his head: “All he said was, that she hadn’t never cared for him, an’ that he didn’t know one thing again’ her,” said Olaf.
“Aw, what’s the use o’ stringin’ it out,” sez Badger-face. “Let’s hang him and have it over with.”
“Hanging a fellow-bein’ is a serious matter, Mr. Flannigan,” sez the Friar. “I am a party to this now, and shall have to assume my share of the responsibility. I shall never consent to swingin’ a man on such evidence as this. Let us go and examine the spot. The hammer may have left a scratch, or something. If you convince me that Olaf committed the murder, I pledge to assist in hangin’ him. That’s certainly fair, men,” he sez to the Cross-branders, an’ they nodded their heads that it was.