“Willer Crick remember you two.”
“If anybody cares,” grins Hashknife. “Come on, Sleepy.”
We swung back on to our broncs and points off down the road. Bassett joins them other three fellers and they watches us ride away. Outside of the body on the sidewalk, Willer Crick is just the same as when we rode in.
“I hope to see buzzards circlin’ that place,” says Hashknife. “I’d like to be called upon to say a prayer over the whole works.”
“What would you say?” I asks.
“I’d say, ‘The rest of you ordinary sinners stand back, ’cause there’s goin’ to be one awful fire in ——.’”
We found the place, and tied to the front gate is the Reverend Cobb’s mule.
“Whatcha know about that?” grunts Hashknife. “Leave it to a preacher to smell out things like this.”
We walks around to the back door. Standing in the doorway is Glory Sillman. She’s kinda leaning against the side of the door, looking away from us. Then she turns.