“Buddy kinda inherits this ranch, don’t he?” I asks.
“That’s a question,” says Sol Vane. “A question for the council to decide.”
“And they’ve already decided,” says Glory.
Hashknife looks down at Buddy and then at the bunch of men.
“The kid’s goin’ to get a square deal, ain’t he, Sillman? He’s your grandson.”
The men all looked at Sillman, but Sillman don’t speak.
“Your grandpaw’s goin’ to see that you gets a square deal, Buddy,” says Hashknife, patting the kid on the head.
One of the men kinda snickers and then turns away.
“Who’s goin’ to keep the kid now?” I asks. “His family ain’t in no shape to take care of him.”
Sol Vane clears his throat. The son-of-a-gun looks like a gobbler with something stuck in his neck.