“What do yuh mean, Sudden?” asked Marsh Hartwell, who had taken no active part in the inquest, but had kept well in the background.
“Well,—” the sheriff shrugged his shoulders—“it might be a handy thing for Eph King to have somebody behind our line, Marsh.”
“By —— that’s right!” exclaimed Cloudy McKay. “We’ll jist ask a few questions.”
“And get answers,” snorted Gene Hill. “We’ll find ——”
The sheriff had made a move to get between Hashknife and the door, but the lanky cowboy shot out of his chair and backed against the door, covering the men with his gun, while Sleepy backed into a position beside him, his gun tensed at his hip.
“Don’t move!” ordered Hashknife sharply. “I can see every man in this room, and I’m gunnin’ for a move. Just relax, please.”
“I told yuh,” complained Sudden. “Yuh see now, do yuh?”
“Aw, shut up,” snorted old Sam Hodges.
“If you seen so——much, why didn’t yuh act before?”
“Yo’re all wrong, sheriff,” said Hashknife easily. “We’re not connected in any way with Eph King nor the sheep interests.”