But the sheriff and his party did not stay more than fifteen minutes; so Hashknife waited until they were out of sight before he rode up to the doctor’s little home.
The old doctor greeted him gravely and started to tell him about the latest tragedy, but Hashknife stopped him.
“I know all about it, Doc. What about that bullet? Did it go all the way through?”
The doctor nodded.
“Yes, it did.”
Hashknife sighed. He had hopes that the calibre of the bullet might give him a clue. The doctor showed him the body. There was no mistaking the corpse. It was that of the brakeman, but little changed from immersion. The bullet had gone straight through his heart, and he had probably plunged straight off the high bank into the slough.
“Poor devil,” sighed Hashknife. “Anyway, he died quick, Doc. The wind was blowin’ away from us, so we had no chance to hear the sound of the shot. Anyway, I’m much obliged.”
“You’re certainly welcome, sir. We will probably hold an inquest tomorrow, and perhaps the sheriff will ask you to attend as a witness.”
“All right, Doc.”
Hashknife led his horse up to the main street and over to the Pinnacle hitch-rack. Just beyond the hitch-rack was the end of the board sidewalk which led down past the saloon. This end of the sidewalk was about two feet higher than the ground level. It had been intended to continue the walk, but this had never been done. Pedestrians usually ignored the sidewalk at this point and went farther along, where the contour of the ground permitted a lower step.