“Yes, and if them guns hadn’t been stolen—” wailed Blue meaningly.
“Outside of that you feel good, don’tcha?” asked Hashknife seriously. “I dunno who killed Quinn, but I’ve sure got a hunch. Anyway, this girl was sent for and came to Gunsight, where she kinda dropped out of sight, leavin’ a certain party very peevish.”
Hashknife glanced at Easton, who was sitting very straight in his saddle.
“Then Lonesome Lee sobered up,” Hashknife continued, “and realized what a —— fool he had been. He comes down here to find out a few things, and somebody pot-shoots him at long range.”
“That’s your story,” interrupted Doc Clevis. “You never let us see the body, so how do we know how he got killed?”
“The man that shot him didn’t want him to find out anythin’.” Hashknife ignored Doc’s peevish statement.
“What’sa idea?” queried one of the cattlemen. “Who didn’t want him to?”
“I’m leadin’ up to that, pardner. The man who shot him was the man who was interested in this girl. He knew that Lonesome Lee was sober. He was the same man who bought the 88 outfit and changed Lonesome Lee’s brand to the 88. Didja ever figure that a 33 is easy to change to an 88 with a runnin’ iron?”
“You’re a —— liar!” yelped Easton trying to draw his gun. But the man next to him, fearful of the buried dynamite, stopped him.
“Now,” Hashknife swayed away from the wall and hooked a thumb over the top of his belt above his holster, “now, I’ll tell you where it all started. Hold still, Blue! You’re as close to your gun as you’ll ever get. Listen, you —— coyotes are to blame for this Lodge-Pole trouble!