Dell Blackwell, of the Half-Box R, was the rider.
“Now tell me jist what happened,” said Slim, half out of breath.
“Somebody shot Eddie Corby. Here’s the way it was. Me and Butch and Jim Kendall and Eddie was playin’ poker in the bunk-house. Butch was losin’, and he got so mad he tore up the cards. He always does that. Well, we didn’t have another deck in the bunk-house.
“Butch said he had several decks in the ranch-house, but he’d be damned if he’d go after one. Eddie said he’d get it, and Butch told him they was in a cupboard in the front room. Eddie was gone jist a few minutes when we hears a gun go off.
“We busted out to see what was goin’ on. We was all kinda jumpy since DuMond got shot, yuh see. But there wasn’t nothin’ to be seen, because it was dark as hell. There’s a light in the house, and we all went up there. The front door is wide open, and there in front of that cupboard lays Eddie, shot from behind.
“I think he’s dead, m’self; but Butch says to bring a doctor. Looks t’ me as though he’d been shot with a thirty-thirty, and I don’t think he’s got a chance in the world. And that’s all we know about it, Slim.”
“Why would anybody shoot Eddie Corby?” wondered Slim Caldwell.
Corby was an inoffensive sort of person, who was not physically strong enough to be a cowboy; so he worked as a horse-wrangler and helped around the ranch.
“It’s got me beat,” declared Blackwell. “Eddie never done anythin’ to anybody. Why, he hardly ever went off the ranch. Personally, I think somebody mistook him for Butch. They’re about the same size, and Butch is the only one who sleeps in the ranch-house. I wouldn’t tell this to Butch, ’cause it’d scare hell out of him.”
“Who’d shoot Butch?” asked Slim quickly.