Butch snorted disgustedly and hooked his thumbs over his belt.
“That accounts for it. Yuh won’t have to look far for the man who killed Billy DuMond.”
“Is Rance McCoy a murderer?” asked Hashknife.
“What do yuh mean, Hartley?”
“DuMond was murdered. His gun is still in the holster. The man who shot him shoved the gun almost against DuMond’s head. And then he threw the body over the side of the bridge, hoping nobody would find it. But they made the mistake of leaving DuMond’s hat on the bridge. Probably overlooked it in the dark.”
Hashknife reached down inside his chaps and drew out the black Stetson, which he handed to Reimer. Hashknife was watching Reimer closely, and he saw his crooked lips twitch at sight of the hat.
Slowly he straightened it out in his two hands. Blackwell merely glanced at it. Butch cleared his throat softly.
“That’s old Billy’s hat,” he said softly. “Poor old Bill.”
“We better keep it,” said Hashknife. “The sheriff will want to keep it, I suppose.”
“What good is it to him?” queried Butch.