“Lemme think. It was there yeste’day, ’cause I took it out when I made the bed. I know danged well—no, I ’member leanin’ it agin’ the wall.”
He glanced around the room and shook his head.
“Don’t make a —— bit of difference; it’s gone.”
“What kind was she?” asked Sleepy.
“Winchester.30-30.”
“That wasn’t it we found near the Swede, was it?”
“No-o-o—I’m —— ’f I know whether it was or not. I never looked at it. Fact is, I never used it. I’m not worth a —— with a rifle, but I sure do sabe the old shotgun and buckshot, or a six-gun. Never liked that idea of shootin’ a man with a mushroom bullet.”
“Does kinda unravel a man,” Hashknife agreed. “When did you buy that .30-30?”
“I acquired it with this —— ranch, along with the rest of the misery.”
Hashknife nodded slowly and considered the ceiling. A question had suddenly popped into his head and he wanted to consider it before speaking. The coffee-grounds were beginning to loosen from the ceiling, and some of them drifted into his eye. He dug them out thoughtfully and turning to Skelton said—