“He told us that the dead-line was mined with dynamite, and that a sparrow couldn’t cross it. We had no way of finding out just how strong the line was. He wanted us to wait, so we waited—until Hartley came across and told us the truth. Now I’m goin’ to give Jack and Molly the Turkey Track for a weddin’ present. And I wish you’d see about gettin’ me to a doctor, cause I don’t want to die off, when there’s so much hatchet-buryin’ goin’ on, Marsh.”
“Just as soon as we can get yuh to one, Eph,” said Marsh. “We’ll take yuh to the Arrow, while one of the boys rides after the doctor.”
“What about me?” Thus Abe Allison.
No one had paid any attention to him. He had taken no part in the shooting, made no effort to run away. Now the crowd considered him, rather amazed to think that he had been overlooked.
“Oh, yeah,” Hashknife looked at him critically. “You were one of Ed Larrimer’s men, wasn’t yuh, Allison?”
“Uh-huh,” Allison looked around at the crowd. “I’m as guilty as ——, I reckon. To me, this wasn’t a killin’ proposition. But I’m not beggin’. I knew it was crooked work; so I’ll take my medicine.”
“He never killed anybody,” said Larrimer, whose wound was being bound up by one of the sheepmen. “Abe was straight until he worked for me.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said the sheriff firmly. “Get me a lariat, Sunshine. We’ll make a clean sweep of the whole gang while we’re at it.”
“Who will make a clean sweep?” asked Hashknife.
Sunshine stopped and looked back at the sheriff.