“What’s that?”
“A pickax and a shovel. At once.”
“Great——Say, that’s a new one. I never thought of getting an idea into Nell Blossom’s stubborn head with those tools. But it might work at that,” and Hurley rode off to get the instruments of labor, but without a smile.
CHAPTER XIII—PLANS ARE MADE
Hurley brought back with him two shovels instead of one, and the pick. The two young men took a roundabout way to the ford so that Boss Tolley might not spy them and suspect where they were going.
They did not talk much. Both were thinking too deeply—were much too disturbed by the uprearing of this tragic thing—for idle chatter. Hunt wondered how his friend really thought of Nell Blossom. For his own part he was heavily depressed by this thing that had come to light.
The situation threatened serious consequences for the cabaret singer. In a more law-abiding community the coroner’s office would have summoned Nell Blossom for examination if the district attorney did not. And in any case, Hunt believed, the whole miserable business must come at last to the light of day.
It was past noon when Hunt and his friend arrived at that heap of dirt and débris that had before attracted their attention. But neither of them thought of the hour or of the midday meal.
Hunt, dismounting, allowed the reins to trail upon the ground before his horse’s nose as he saw Hurley did with Bouncer. Both animals were well trained. He removed coat, vest, and Tom Hicks’ broad-brimmed hat which he still affected. Rolling up his sleeves he seized the pick and went at the task with the skill as well as the strength of a trained ditch-digger. Hurley admired the parson’s ability thus displayed.
“Some boy, you, Willie. I’ll tell the world you know something besides pounding the pulpit. Where’s that shovel?”