“Got an idea, Brick?” queried Grant.
Brick sighed and reached for his cigaret makings.
“It’s far-fetched, Bill. Mebbe it’s too ed far-fetched, but I’m goin’ to work on it.”
They sat and talked until daylight, when they went over to the Dollar Down and searched for evidence. Some distance away from the saloon they found the empty shotgun cartridge. It was a 12 gage, brass shell. Brick examined it closely and dropped it into his pocket.
“No clue in that,” he told them. “Every shotgun in the country is 12 gage, and mostly every one reloads their own shells.”
They went down to the doctor’s office and found that Soapy was doing as well as possible. Grant got his horse and rode back to his ranch, while Harp and Brick went back to the office to get some sleep.
“You goin’ to that Silverton dance Friday night?” asked Brick, as they pulled off their boots.
“I dunno,” Harp shook his head sadly. “I was goin’ to ask Miss Miller, but I kinda lost my nerve. I found out about that dance after you went away yesterday; so I went right down to Wesson’s. Mrs. Wesson told me that Leach had been there early that mornin’ to ask Miss Miller to go with him.
“I thought that ended it. Later on I met Mrs. Wesson and she said—” Harp snapped off a boot and flung it across the floor—“Mrs. Wesson’s the dangdest josher I ever seen, Brick. She said that she only told me that Leach had asked Miss Miller; but she didn’t say that Miss Miller refused him.”
But the point of the joke was lost on Brick, who was looking straight at Harp, a queer expression in his blue eyes.