The “Kid” drew the back of his hand across his glistening forehead. He was standing near the door.
“Don’t kid yourself, Chief!” he snarled. “We heard him talk—all of us did! And there’s another thing: us being bilious wouldn’t account for Louie Martin walking in on us here, and climbing into that bed!”
Monte was staring down at the dead man.
“You say you heard the windows back here rattling earlier in the evening?” he demanded.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t they? The whole house was rattling!”
Monte nodded. He had his own ideas on this subject, but he didn’t intend to spread them before his already demoralized followers.
“Well, the thing we’ve got to decide is what we’re going to do with him,” he commented. “We’ve got to handle the whole business ourselves, and say nothing. We can’t afford to have the dicks asking questions around here just now!”
Tacitly, Monte’s three companions agreed, but there was in their pale faces a question which none of them had the courage to voice. Monte continued, apparently unconscious of their emotions.
“Billy,” he said, “you get the spade and dig a grave over close to the fence. After we get him planted, we’ll move that pile of old bean poles over the place. It’s kind of tough, but Louie is dead—and we got to look out for ourselves!”