“And Scenery Sims,” adds Calamity, removing his hat. “They must a threw a match on to a fuse. The padlock came through the back door, and is sticking in Mike’s bar.”
There’s complete silence for a while, and then McFee gasps—
“My ——!”
He yanks the team around, and away he goes, rattlety bang, down toward the jail, while the crowd races along behind him. Muley and Telescope sets there on the steps and finishes up their song.
“Ret-ret-retribution,” pronounces Telescope. “The old man kills Chuck, and then gets hoist with his own petard.”
“Hoisted,” corrects Muley. “I never heard dynamite called petard but a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Some celebration, eh, Telescope. I wonder if anybody has yet killed Henry Peck this fair morning?”
“The day is yet young, so why worry?” says Telescope. “I fain wouldst look upon the red when it is wine. Let’s tend a little bar, Muley.”
I wanders around back of Mike’s place. I feels weary, and when I notices Mike’s little barn, I gets an inspiration. Why not sleep until celebration time? I climbs into the loft and sprawls on the hay.
“All the comforts of home,” says I out loud.
“Hey, Henry,” comes a whisper. “Was Chuck dead?”