“She’s up in her room, packing up, Mack—she’s quit.”
They trooped up the stairs and knocked on her door.
“All right—in a minute. Take that rig around to the back and I’ll meet you out there,” said a voice from inside.
“She hired a livery rig to take her to Scorpion Bend,” whispered one of the curious girls. Henry nodded.
Then the door opened and Violet La Verne stood there, staring at the crowd. She was dressed for traveling, and had an old valise in her hand.
“Who shot Ben Todd?” asked Henry quietly.
The valise dropped from her hand and she closed her eyes for a moment. Henry went on kindly:
“You see, my dear, I happen to know that Ben Todd couldn’t read nor write; so that will had to be a fake. All the rest of the gang are either in jail or being probed for lead, so you might as well talk and save what skin you have left.”
“Stickler killed him,” she whispered huskily. “I grub-staked Ben Todd—I—I honestly did. Stickler wrote that will. He thought Todd had struck it rich and that he’d record the location—but it—it wasn’t recorded—because it wasn’t a mine—he stole two sacks of high-grade ore from the Circle G. That’s the truth—and—and nothing but the—”
And then Violet La Verne went flat in a faint.