Ole was almost incoherent. He gulped down a glass of water and rested his two big hands on the table in front of Bad News.
“I—I found Buck Gillis down the road,” he panted. “He’s dead as a monkey-wrench—shot!”
“You ain’t drunk, are yuh, Ole?” asked Bad News.
“No; you danged fool! I tell yuh, I found him—got a handcuff on one wrist. I tell yuh he’s dead, Bad News! I didn’t touch him.”
“Are yuh shore it’s Buck?”
“Got Buck’s clothes on and his star, and it looks like Buck. I didn’t ask him if he was Buck, you damn’ fool!”
“Must be old Buck,” said Bad News shakily. “I’ll get the doctor.” He started to walk, but broke into a run, while Ole sat down and reached for another glass of water.
“I never found a dead man before,” he said foolishly.
“Where was he shot?” asked Cultus.
“Down the road about a mile and a half.”