“What in —— would I know about Jack Hartwell’s wife?” he asked thickly. “I’ve got all the——”
“I asked yuh where she is, Ed,” reminded Hashknife coldly. “You ain’t the kind of a man that would steal a woman—but yuh did. Now, —— yore dirty heart, where is she?”
Larrimer shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned to the sheriff.
“Where did you find this —— fool?” he asked. “He’s loco.”
“He sure is crazy.” Thus Casey Steil anxiously.
“After it’s all over, we’ll find her, Jack,” assured Hashknife confidently. “Just remain where yuh are. We’ve got to kinda hurry things up, ’cause King has got to have a doctor.”
“He’ll be lucky if he ever gets one,” growled Marsh, wiping his sweat-stained face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Any dirty rustler that——”
“He’s no rustler,” said Hashknife quickly. “Eph King is pretty much of a gentleman, Hartwell. When he found out that a gang of cow thieves were takin’ advantage of you cattlemen, he led his gang down here. And they’re down there at that little shack, bustin’ up that crew of rustlers right now.”
“Brought his men?” queried Marsh with astonishment and unbelief in his face. “Was that what the shootin’——?”
“That’s it, Hartwell. I came with ’em. My pardner is down there now, helpin’ them sheepherders to wipe out the rustlers.”