“Plumb forgot the wounded man!” grunted Hashknife, leading the way out.
“——!” gaped Skelton. “That’s Quinin! He’s my hired man. What happened to him, anyway?”
Sleepy and Hashknife unfastened the ropes, while they told Skelton of how they had found Quinin. The old man’s face grew tense and he spat viciously, but said nothing. They carried Quinin into the house and placed him on a bed. Hashknife took hold of a limp wrist and squinted down at the man. Then he took a tiny mirror from his vest pocket and held it to the man’s lips. The surface remained unclouded.
Hashknife slowly replaced the mirror and looked at Skelton.
“He was your hired man—not is, Skelton.”
“Dead?”
Hashknife nodded and reached for the “makings.”
“Got any idea who threw the lead?” he asked.
Skelton shook his head.
“Trouble hunter, Bliz?” asked Sleepy.