“I said you was a pest,” he said seriously. “Wasn’t that funny? I did, I tell yuh. Thought you was a pest; you and yore questions. I have to laugh.”
“Go ahead,” said Hashknife. “You can laugh, if you feel thataway.”
Breezy had charge of Amos Baggs and seemed to be getting a lot of joy out of his job. Harry Cole wasn’t dead, and the doctor said he would probably live, but Cole did not seem to have any opinions in the matter.
Suddenly another hush. The roar of conversation slowed down to dead silence. Len Ayres was coming in, and beside him, looking very white and wide-eyed, was Nan. Baggs looked at her, wet his dry lips with his tongue and stared down at the floor.
Len touched Amos on the arm and the lawyer looked up at him.
“Do you want to tell this part of it?” he asked. “Or shall I ask the lady to tell it? She don’t know what it’s all about—yet.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Amos huskily.
“Don’t lie about it,” warned Len. He turned to Nan. “You tell it.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know what it was all about.”
“Nan, don’t lie to me!” Len cried. “I knew all the time that you wasn’t the rightful heir to the Box S. I could block yuh any time I wanted to, but I—I didn’t. Somethin’ held me back, somethin’ that told me if I went slow I’d mebby clear myself.”