“Well, that’s what you’ve got. Giddap, broncs! Joe Rich had it. His must ’a’ back-fired on him.”
Hashknife laughed. Honey Bee was so sincere in his statements.
“Was Rich a good sheriff?” asked Hashknife.
“Y’betcha. Joe was a man that wouldn’t stop at anythin’ to enforce the law. Some men kinda play fav’rites, yuh know. But Joe wasn’t that kind. At least I don’t reckon he was, and I knew him awful well.”
“How did it happen that you wasn’t his deputy?”
“Politics,” explained Honey. “Merrick controls a lot of votes in this county, and he told Joe he’d support him if he’d appoint Len Kelsey deputy. Joe agreed, and it was the Merrick vote that won for Joe.”
“Who was the other candidate?”
“John Leeds, of Ransome. He’s a hard old customer, Hartley. He was sheriff before Joe was elected, and he made a lot of enemies. Pretty smart, too. I’ll betcha, if old John was sheriff he’d ’a’ been on the trail of that robber before daylight. He was a sticker, old John was, and nobody ever told him what to do. Mebbe that’s why he got beat.”
They drove along to where Jim Wheeler had been killed, and Hashknife leaned out of the buggy. But he did not say anything. They drove across the bridge and to the HJ, where they saw the Flying H buggy team tied to the front porch.
“Uncle Hozie and Aunt Emma,” said Honey. “They’re salt of the earth, gents. Always tryin’ to do somethin’ for yuh. Aunt Emma hops all over yuh for doin’ somethin’, but all the time she’s laughin’ inside at yuh. They don’t make ’em any better. Hozie and Jim was pretty thick, and it hurt Hozie to see old Jim pass out. He didn’t say much—but that’s his way. Tears don’t show much—except moisture.”