“I see.” Big Medicine nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, but such a thing is impossible, Hartley. I couldn’t get along without her.”
“How about bringin’ the sick man out here?”
“No, I couldn’t think of such a thing.”
Hashknife squatted on his heels and began rolling a cigarette. Ike and Cleve came down past them, going to the stable, and Big Medicine told them to take things easy until he decided what he wanted them to do today.
“Hawkworth,” said Hashknife, after the boys had gone, “there’s somethin’ wrong around this country.”
Big Medicine looked at Hashknife, but did not reply.
“You lost five hundred dollars in that holdup,” continued Hashknife, “and a man was shot without visible cause. Last night someone tried to kill me with a knife. Sleepy killed a man who was lookin’ me over, and his own friends didn’t ask many questions. What’s it all about?”
Big Medicine leaned back against the barn and looked off across the hills.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe there is something wrong.” He turned to Hashknife. “Are you a detective?”
Hashknife smiled and shook his head.