Hashknife told Sleepy about Horse-Collar’s tourniquet, and Sleepy cried tears. Even with all his pain he still retained his overdeveloped sense of humor. Later in the day Horse-Collar came to the hotel. He was sober now and had been talking to Jimmy Moran at the jail.
“I been talkin’ with Jimmy,” he told Hashknife confidentially. “He says you’re detectin’. Gosh, I didn’t know that.”
“What about it?” asked Hashknife curiously.
“Thisaway, Hartley. You can’t detect and set here. Tomorrow I’ll be here. I ain’t much of a good nurse, but I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s mighty good of you, Horse-Collar.”
“Not p’ticularly. I’m still workin’ for Jimmy, and I take orders from the boss. Old Conley’s out of danger, they say, and I heard that Frank Moran has paid Jimmy’s debts at the Black Horse. I’ll be here in the mornin’.”
Jeff Ryker came and talked to Hashknife, trying to see if Hashknife had any idea who had shot Sleepy.
“There’s been too much of this shooting going on around here,” declared Ryker earnestly.
“Well, you can’t blame it on Pete Conley or Jimmy Moran,” observed Hashknife. “Mebby it’s what you’d call an epidemic of crime.”
“That’s what it is. Conley’s trial starts tomorrow. He hasn’t a lawyer to defend him. The court will have to appoint some one to defend him, I suppose, and that will cause a delay. Personally, I don’t think a lawyer would do him any good.”