“Powerful stuff.”
They walked part way back to the alley, where Hashknife stopped and looked back.
“Mallette came from the rear of the Black Horse Saloon,” said Hashknife. “He was headin’ for them redlight houses and he was loaded with absinth and whisky. Uh-huh.”
“That’s the right dope on it, Hashknife. What have you got in your mind?”
“How long was it before Pete Conley went out on his trail?”
“Prob’ly not much more than five minutes.”
“Long enough.”
They walked back through the alley, where Hashknife excused himself and went over to a general merchandise store. He bought a box of cartridges for his revolver, and engaged the proprietor in conversation. Their selection of ammunition was limited to a few sizes. Hashknife noticed a few boxes of .22 caliber shells.
“Yuh don’t sell many twenty-twos, do you?” he asked.
“Not many,” grinned the proprietor. “Pretty small ammunition. Pete Conley used to buy quite a lot.”