“You’re —— right it wasn’t! Neither was the other three.”
“You’re clever,” admitted Easton. “Clever as ——! What did you leave——”
“Lemme alone!” snarled Blue. “Don’tcha ride me, Spot! If you thought of that, why didn’t you say so? You’re so danged smart that you always see mistakes after they happen.”
Easton made no reply to this, and a deep gloom seemed to pervade the little room: Blue chewed mechanically, his eyes closed, a picture of abject despair; while Easton considered his bandaged right hand, which ached badly. His knuckles still tingled from contact with that heavy gun.
“Hagen knows that tall jasper,” he volunteered.
“Yeah?”
Blue spat and leaned back.
“Name’s Hashknife. Hagen says he’s a fightin’ hound.”
“My ——!” exploded Blue. “D’ you need to be told?”
After another long period of silence Easton said—