“What in —— do I care about that?” snapped Blue.
Hashknife looked surprized at the interruption.
“Pardner, you asked where I came from, didn’t you? I’m tryin’ to tell you.”
“Zasso? Well, we’ll let that slide fer now while we talks about other things. Will somebody find Doc Clevis?”
A man from the War-Bonnet signified his willingness to find the doctor, while the crowd waited and grew to greater proportions.
Doc Clevis was easy to find, and a few minutes later he arrived on the scene, bustling with importance. He was over six feet tall, dressed in a loose-fitting, rusty-black suit and short boots. A thin fringe of hair circled his otherwise bald head and surmounted a face which was a mixture of unutterable sadness and no little evil.
He climbed into the wagon and sat humped on the edge of the wagon-box, while he examined the body. Finally he nodded sadly and looked at the circle of onlookers.
“He’s dead,” he announced solemnly.
“My ——!” marveled Hashknife. “You’re a wonder, Doc.”
“Been dead quite a while,” said the doctor.