‘In more ways than one, Hartley.’
They rode into Mesa City and tied their horses at the Oasis saloon, where they found Dave Morgan, Cal Dickenson, Spike Cahill, Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs, and Red Eller, all more or less drunk. They looked the sheriff over coldly.
‘What’s been goin’ on, boys?’ asked the sheriff.
‘A-a-a-a plenty!’ snorted Dave Morgan. ‘Didn’t yuh hear about it?’
‘I haven’t heard much, Dave. Nan Lane came to Cañonville after me, but she didn’t know what it was all about. Young Morgan said yuh accused Paul Lane of murderin’ Peter Morgan. It’s a damn wonder that some of yuh couldn’t have come after me in the first place. Now, the soberest one of yuh tell me what happened to-day. No, don’t all talk at once. Spike, you tell it.’
‘I can damn soon tell yuh, Lem,’ declared Spike. ‘When we got up this mornin’, Peter Morgan was gone. He’d saddled up and pulled out before breakfast. Me and Bert Roddy came to town. Well, you met us here, Lem. We went back to the ranch, and it wasn’t so very long after that when here comes Peter Morgan’s horse, and on his back is Pete Morgan, tied on—dead as a doornail.[’]
‘He’d been hit over the head with somethin’, and his gun was gone. There was blood on the horse’s shoulder, and we thought the horse had been shot, but it was Pete’s blood. And the horse came from down toward the Lane ranch. You know that Pete and old Lane had a fight yesterday here in town, and Lane said he’d kill the first one of the 6X6 that ever came on his ranch.’
‘Where’s Pete’s body now, Spike?’
‘Out at the ranch.’
‘And nobody thought to notify me, eh? I suppose the sheriff and the coroner——’