‘Well, I dunno. Might work out thataway, Rex. We’ve got to put up our horses now.’
He and Sleepy stabled their mounts and gave them a feed of oats. As they closed the stable door, Sleepy said:
‘How much of that will is true, Hashknife?’
‘How much?’ Hashknife hesitated for several moments.
‘Yore fingers are all stained with ink, cowboy.’
Hashknife chuckled softly. ‘Some day, you’ll be a detective, Sleepy. C’mere.’
They backed against the stable, where Hashknife took a crumpled piece of paper from his hip pocket. He scratched a match and held the paper for Sleepy to read. The writing was identical with that of the other will, but read:
This is mi last will--when im ded.
To Mary Morgan, mi legil wife i hearby leave the 6X6 ranch and everthing on it. i dont give nothing to Dave Morgan he dont deserve it.
If Mary dyes it goes to her nearist kin. To Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs I hearby give the Oasis saloon he aint got no branes so he will have to give Jack Farewether a job as long as the saloon keeps open. This is mi onely will.
Yrs Respy
Peter Morgan
his X MarkP.S. wrote bi Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs oct 18 1904 because Pete Morgan cant wright.
Hashknife was obliged to light a second match, before Sleepy could finish reading the document, and, as Sleepy straightened up with a soft whistle of astonishment, Hashknife touched the match to a corner of the paper and they watched it burn to crinkly ashes.
‘I wrote that other will, Sleepy,’ said Hashknife slowly. ‘It works out the same way, as far as the property is concerned. But when a young man is slated to marry a danged sweet young lady, and don’t know anythin’ about his paternal ancestor, why not start him off right, as far as his father is concerned?’