This from one of the cowboys, who was riding a Lazy H horse.
Skeeter shut his lips tight and shook his head. Freel dismounted and examined the body carefully.
“Buckshot,” he said finally. “Riddled him.”
“The gun’s up there on the bank,” said Skeeter, jerking his head in that direction. “The empty shell is over in front of the shack.”
“You’re a —— of a cool customer,” declared the one called Slim.
“Ancestors was Eskimos,” said Skeeter seriously.
“If yuh ask me, I’d say he’s as crazy as a loon,” said another cowboy, who wore long hair and a chin-strap. “They say that’s what happens to sheep-herders.”
Freel sent two of the cowboys to get the shotgun and empty cartridge shell, to be used as evidence, while he dismounted and slipped a pair of handcuffs on Skeeter Bill and ordered him to mount one of the horses.
“Mind doin’ me a li’l favor, sheriff?” asked Skeeter.
“Mebbe not,” growled Freel. “Whatcha want?”