Slim grinned widely and dug his toe into the ashes.
“I was out settin’ up with m’ best girl, and I never knowed there was a fire until I came into town.”
Bill Grant laughed and looked toward the street. A rider was coming toward them and they all recognized him as Brick Davidson. He was riding a mule bareback. Silent whooped like an Indian and fairly dragged Brick off the long-eared beast, while the others crowded around and shot questions at him so fast that he could answer none of them.
“For gosh sake hold on!” he begged. “Yeah, Harp’s all right. He stopped at the doctor’s place to get his arm dressed. He got stuck with a knife. Now, what in happened to Marlin City?”
And between the three of them they managed to give Brick a fairly good idea of what had taken place the night before—or rather, that morning. Brick said nothing during the telling.
“And I’ve been huntin’ for yore danged carcasses ever since,” declared Silent.
“Uh-huh!” Brick squinted at the ruins and back at their two horses. “When did our broncs show up?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” replied Grant.
Brick looked over his sorrel carefully, and then removed his rifle from the scabbard. It was loaded, and with a cartridge in the chamber. He grinned at the three men, cocked the gun, pointed it at the sky and pulled the trigger.
Only the dull click of the hammer came to their ears. Brick shoved the gun back into the scabbard and went over to the mule.