They were sitting in front of a store, as the funeral came down a short side street and wended its way out of town. It was not over a quarter of a mile to the cemetery. The wagons, buckboards and riders were still turning the corner on to the main street, when Len Ayres rode in. He drew up in front of the Oasis and watched the procession.
And as the last vehicle turned the corner, he spurred his horse and fell in behind.
“Can yuh imagine that?” snorted Sleepy. “He’s goin’ to the funeral!”
Hashknife looked seriously at Sleepy and got to his feet.
“I reckon we’ll go along, pardner. C’mon.”
The cortege moved slowly, so they had no difficulty in reaching the graveyard in time. Len tied his horse to a fence and mixed in with the crowd around the grave. Hashknife and Sleepy managed to get to a vantage point where they could watch everything. Little Larry was the sole mourner, but he was too interested in the crowd to be much of a success.
They saw Len push his way in close to the grave, where he stood all during the ceremony, paying no attention to any one. In fact, he was the centre of interest, although he seemed unconscious of it. Amos Baggs stood across the grave from him, and if his expression was any criterion of his feelings, he was sorry that it wasn’t Len’s funeral.
Len stayed in the one spot until the crowd began to disperse, when he went slowly back to his horse and rode away. Breezy met Hashknife and Sleepy at the fence, bursting for a chance to talk.
“Can yuh ee-magine that?” the deputy demanded. “Stood right there and watched ’em plant Charley! That’s cold nerve, Hartley.”
“Do yuh suppose he was merely tryin’ to show his nerve?” asked Hashknife. “Yuh know it don’t take nerve to attend the funeral of a man you’ve never hurt in any way.”