The men from both outfits had moved in close now, trying to understand what it was all about, their enmity all but forgotten in this queer turn of events.
“I pulled them bullets,” admitted the sheriff. “I don’t reckon either of you showed any yaller streak. You played the game square, and I like you both for it. Personally I kinda enjoyed it. It was like lookin’ at a show. I was the only one that knowed how it would turn out.”
“Was it any of your damn’ business how it turned out?” demanded Pete hotly.
“In a way, it was, Pete—” calmly. “Barrin’ my friendship with both of you, and my position as sheriff, it still was my business, in a way. Now, you two boys was aimin’ to kill each other over a woman. Yeah, Ben told me about it. You might thank Ben instead of glarin’ at him.
“He liked both of you, and he didn’t want no killin’ done; so he told me about it. I don’t think for a minute that this Smith girl would care to have you killin’ each other over her. Most girls don’t. Anyway, it was a sucker idea, because there ain’t no Smith girl around here any more; so you was tryin’ to kill each other for nothin’.”
“What do you mean?” blurted Bud.
“The Smiths ain’t moved away,” offered a cowboy.
“If you hadn’t had so much killin’ on your mind, you might have found out that me and the Smith girl was married over a week ago. You boys better go back and have your spree, as soon as you give me back them guns, ’cause I’ve got work to do.”
“Whittlin’?” asked Bud blankly.
“Lookin’ for somethin’ to whittle on.”