“Go ahead,” nodded the doctor.
“Don’t talk too long.”
Hashknife rode on to the ranch. He hadn’t the slightest idea of why he was coming out to see Conley, except that he had what might be termed a hunch. Mrs. Conley admitted him, and he found the old man propped up in bed.
Conley stared at Hashknife out of sunken eyes.
“I heard them talk about you,” he said huskily. “The doctor said your pardner got shot last night. Is he alive?”
“Yeah, luckily,” said Hashknife.
“I’m glad somebody has luck.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve never had much of it myself. My son is being tried for his life, and he hasn’t even a lawyer. I was goin’ to get him one, but I got shot. Dawn has gone down to be with him.” He shifted his eyes to Hashknife.
“Will they hang him, do you think?”
“Law is a queer piece of machinery, Conley.”
“Law for a half-breed, Hartley.”