The old road was very rocky at this point. Hashknife dismounted and walked along the right side of the road, which was piled with broken boulders. Suddenly he grunted aloud and reached down among the rocks.
He had found a Colt forty-five revolver. The other two men swung down from their horses and came over to him. The spur of the hammer had been broken off, and one shot had been fired. It was a single-action gun, well oiled.
Hashknife examined it closely and smiled at Lem, as he handed him the gun.
‘There’s the missin’ six-shooter,’ he said. ‘Ben Leach shot himself.’
‘Shot himself? How do yuh——’
‘Probably ridin’ with the gun in his hand, Lem. The horse stumbled on this rocky ground, fell and broke its shoulder, throwin’ Ben. See where the spur of that hammer hit a rock?’
‘You mean, the hammer hit the rock, fired the shell—and killed Ben?’
‘Don’t it look reasonable, Lem? He was probably ridin’ fast, and when the horse fell, he flung the gun on the rocks. The horse got up and went limpin’ off across country, until it got the other front foot tangled in the reins, and went down for keeps. Yuh can see that the hammer of the gun hit the rocks and fired that shell.’
‘Well, by Gad!’ blurted Lem. ‘I can see it all now, Hashknife. It’s all simple, when yuh can see it. Ain’t that fate for yuh?’
‘It was his way to die,’ said Hashknife thoughtfully.