“From the K-10 outfit,” said Musical quickly. “Mebbe we better kinda look around with a lantern, eh?”
Hashknife and Sleepy exchanged a quick glance.
“You feel good now?” asked Lucy anxiously, dripping water from the towel and the basin.
“Yeah, I feel fine,” lied Hashknife. “Ain’t got a pain in either leg.”
The boys had secured another lantern and were going out to look around. Hashknife sat down in a chair and Lucy proceeded to attack the swelling with compresses. In a few minutes Musical came back and placed a long-bladed knife, with a horn handle, on the table beside Hashknife.
“There’s what hit yuh,” he declared. “Whoever throwed it at yuh must ’a’ misjudged a little and hit yuh with the hilt. It was right near where yuh was layin’. And,” added Musical, “that Sam Blair wasn’t no knife-thrower.”
“Wasn’t he?”
Hashknife looked the knife over carefully. It was a wicked weapon, almost as sharp as a razor, and with a point like a needle.
“Do yuh reckon the Mexican did it?” asked Hashknife.
“You’ll probably never know who done it,” said Ike. “Sam Blair is too dead to skin. Mebbe he knowed who threw it. If he didn’t, what in hell was he doin’ out there? Big Medicine swore he’d kill the first K-10 puncher that showed up; swore that to Baldy Kern.