The Morgan trail

by W. C. Tuttle

‘Yuh don’t say!’ snorted Joe.

‘Keep out of this, Joe,’ growled Dave Morgan.

‘Well, damn it, I jist asked a question.’

‘And didn’t get it answered.’

‘Well, what about it?’ queried Lem. ‘How are we goin’ to take Noah to town? He can’t stand ridin’ in a lumber wagon. We might leave the corpse here——’

‘Like hell yuh will!’ snapped Dave Morgan.

‘What harm would it do?’ asked Hashknife.

‘Peter Morgan is dead. There’s nothing yuh can do for him, except to bury him. Bein’ a relative, I know how yuh feel, but yuh can’t let sentiment interfere in a case of this kind. We’ve got to get Evans to a hospital; sabe?’

‘Since when did you start runnin’ this country?’ demanded Dave Morgan hotly.

‘Since about a minute ago, Morgan. Sleepy, you and Eller fix a place in the stable where we can leave a corpse until mornin’. See if yuh can’t find an old piece of canvas or——’