No one spoke for several moments after they went out. The poker-players went back to their chairs, and the roulette started in where it left off. Faro Lanning came behind the bar to get a drink before renewing his game, and asked Hashknife and Sleepy to partake of his hospitality.
“It ain’t none of my business,” he said confidentially, “but perhaps you acted right in that matter. Baldy wasn’t sure, you see. Personally I don’t think that Torres killed Blair. Torres is a knife fighter, pure and simple. Unless it was an accident, Torres could never stick two bullets into any target as close as them two were stuck into Sam Blair. But look out for Kern. Well, here’s regards.”
They drank to each other and Lanning went back to his game. Lee Yung’s expressionless eyes considered Hashknife’s back, while they drank at the bar, but turned away as they finished.
Hashknife and Sleepy joined the three boys from the Tumbling H, and they went to the Welcome Saloon.
The K-10 horses were missing from the Greenback rack, which was conclusive evidence that Baldy had led his gang home.
“Wouldn’t have missed this evenin’ for a fortune,” declared Musical. “It was jist zip, boom, bang! Say, that Garcia shore is a knife-throwin’ devil, ain’t he? Pinned Baldy’s wrist as nice as yuh please. Probably figured that his hand or arm was the only safe place to throw at to stop the shot.”
“Makes me kinda twitch,” admitted Ike. “Dang a knife! They kinda slither, don’t they? If a feller ever comes after me with a knife, I’m goin’ to plumb forget that I know how to do anythin’, except run like hell.”
“Shore a nasty thing,” declared Cleve. “It ain’t none of my business, Hartley, but I was wonderin’ why yuh didn’t let Baldy go ahead. Somebody has got to kill Torres.”
“I reckon that’s right,” nodded Hashknife. “Somebody will have to kill him eventually, but I hope they’ll kill him for somethin’ that he done. Yuh see, he didn’t kill Blair.”