“What’sa idea of hidin’ the body?” demanded the doctor.
“Looks —— queer t’ me,” swore Blue meaningly. “Man gets shot and his body hid. You fellers think you can do things like that? Huh!”
“Mebbe he’s already buried,” suggested Hashknife. “Mebbe we dug a hole and buried him.”
Blue snorted in disgust and turned toward the door, as if to go outside, but whirled like a flash, gun in hand. Skelton, who was a trifle to one side, idly swinging the shot-gun in one hand, had seen Blue’s move toward his gun, and as Blue whirled, Skelton threw the heavy riot-gun straight at his head.
It was over in a second. The breech of the shot-gun crashed into Blue’s face, knocking him off his feet and tossing his pistol toward the ceiling, while the shotgun slammed into the wall and sent a handful of buckshot into the floor.
“Kerzowie!” whooped Hashknife.
Doc Clevis helped Blue to his feet and led him outside to his horse. Blue did not seem to have the slightest idea of what had happened to him, although his nose had shifted from its original mooring, giving him a peculiar lopsided, cock-eyed appearance. His right eye was also beginning to draw a dark mantle across his vision, but in spite of it all, Blue whistled through his teeth and obeyed Doc Clevis to the letter.
As they rode away Bliz Skelton shook his head and looked at Hashknife.
“It’s all right so far, but this is the finish, I reckon. I don’t like Blue and his gang, but they stand for the law. Everybody around here hates me, and it ain’t goin’ to stretch your imagination to see that Blue will have the whole country behind him. If I was you fellers I’d saddle up and pull m’ freight, muy pronto.”
“Not yet, Bliz. Shucks,” Hashknife looked solemnly at several heifers, which had drifted up past the barn and were grazing among the tombstones. “I’ve got business to attend to, don’tcha know it. There’s——”