“No doubt of it. I don’t believe you told me your name.”
“Hartley. I’m out at the HJ ranch—Jim Wheeler’s place.”
“Oh, yes. No, I don’t think there is any doubt of Wheeler’s head having been crushed by the rocks. You know how a body would bound, fastened by one foot to a stirrup.”
“The rocks cut kinda deep, didn’t they, Doc?”
“Mm-m-m-m—well, yes.”
“Do yuh know—it’s a funny thing, Doc?”
“What is?”
“The fact that there ain’t a rock as big as a pea on that whole stretch of road where Wheeler was dragged.”
“You say there isn’t?”
“Well,” smiled Hashknife, “I said ‘there ain’t.’ It amounts to the same thing, I suppose. Your English is better than mine.”