Hashknife shook his head.
“I dunno, Miss Taylor. It kinda looks to me as though the sheriff had kinda gone off half-cocked. That old judge ought to be restin’ in a cemetery. I dunno how any community could stand for an old mummy like him. He ain’t human. There ain’t nothin’ against ’em, except that darned dog, and the fact they were not home that night.”
“But they surely couldn’t convict on that evidence.”
“Mm-m-m-m-m!” Hashknife masticated thoughtfully. “I dunno. I’ve seen queer things happen. I ’member a case where one man was suin’ another for stealin’ his wife, and the cow-jury brought in a verdict of manslaughter against the prosecutin’ attorney.”
“A-a-a-aw, don’t lie like that!” protested Sleepy. “You never seen nothin’ of the kind.”
“Well, I’ve seen things just about as bad. I don’t trust humanity—not cow-jury humanity. If I was goin’ to win that case, I’d do it out of court, Miss Taylor.”
“But how could that be done?” asked Marion eagerly.
“Find the men that done the job.”
“An easy thing to think about,” observed Sleepy, leaning back to let Nanah slide a pile of hot-cakes on his plate.
“But the sheriff won’t do anything now,” said Marion. “He feels that he has done his duty.”