Hashknife thanked the judge, but declined his invitation.
On the way back to the office, Roaring told Hashknife that the judge had asked him to walk home with him.
“He’s scared to death,” declared Roaring. “Personally, I don’t think they’ll harm him. I don’t think they’d ’a’ hurt Jim Randall, but he didn’t wait to see.”
“Time will tell,” said Hashknife. “The old judge has a right to be nervous.”
They went back to the office, where Wind River Jim was changing the bandage on his sore head. Hashknife sat down at the sheriff’s desk and rolled a smoke, while Roaring assisted Wind River Jim with his bandage. There were several sheets of writing paper on the desk, bearing the letterhead of the sheriff’s office. Hashknife picked one of them up in his hand and looked through it. Across the bottom of the sheet was the watermark—Fordhill Bond.
He dropped the sheet of paper back on the desk and lighted his cigaret.
“I’d like to get a line on the jigger that knocked on my temple,” growled Wind River Jim. “It shore aches me.”
“What does Pete think of the trial?” asked Hashknife.
“Sore about it.”
Roaring pinned the end of the bandage and came back to the desk.