“I hope we will, Harp. In fact, I’m kinda sure we will.”
“When?” Harp jumped out of his chair and grabbed Brick by the shoulders. “When do we start, Brick?”
“As soon as we find out who shot him.”
“Aw-w-w, !” Harp exploded his disgust and walked to the doorway. “I thought you had some idea who done it.”
“It was somebody who wanted to kill Soapy Caswell—and they wanted it bad enough to bushwhack him with a shotgun. Now, if we can find out who wanted him dead”
“That ought to be easy, Brick. We’ll start askin’ questions as soon as it gets daylight, eh?”
But the sarcasm of Harp’s question was lost upon Brick, who sat staring intently at the floor, trying to convince himself that certain things might be true. Bill Grant came to the office and sat down with them.
“Doc’s pickin’ out shot,” he told them hopefully. “Soapy don’t know what it’s all about, but he’s doin’ a lot of cussin’ over it. Soapy’s a tough old customer and he’s got a fightin’ chance, boys.”
“We’re pullin’ for him, Bill,” said Harp. “Brick is pullin’ for him—or for somethin’. When Brick gets to thinkin’ that-a-way, somethin’ is due to rattle real hard.”
Brick looked up, his brow furrowed deeply.