Hashknife leaned against the front of the general store and rolled a smoke. Jack Ralston and Buck West crossed the street from the Pinnacle Saloon, and Hashknife called to Jack. The deputy came over to him and they held a short conversation, after which they headed for the sheriff’s office and went inside.
“There’s something going on,” declared Peggy. “But where are Sleepy and Slim, do you suppose?”
“I can’t even suppose,” replied Aunt Emma. “I hope that inquest won’t take long. Hozie will stay until the last dog is hung, you may be sure of that. And us out here in this hot sun. But that’s a man for yuh!”
“You came in for the inquest, didn’t you, Aunt Emma?” asked Laura.
“I did not—Hozie did. I have no interest in things of that kind.”
“There is Hashknife now!” exclaimed Peggy.
The tall cowboy was standing at the door of the court-house, and none of them had seen him leave the sheriff’s office. After a few moments of deliberation, he went in and climbed the stairs.
The rather spacious court-room was not filled. There were possibly fifty people in the room. Lonnie Myers stood near the doorway at the top of the stairs; Dan Leach was at the opposite corner, at the rear; while Nebrasky Jones sat in a front seat, very erect and very dignified.
Doctor Curzon had already selected a jury when Hashknife came in; and the six men, Cut Bellew, Eph Harper, Jimmy Black of the 3W3, Buck West, Fred Thornton, a feed-store keeper, and Jud Albertson, a blacksmith, were occupying the jury-box.
Fred Coburn, the prosecuting attorney, was the only lawyer in the room. Hashknife moved down to the front and took the only available seat. Across the aisle from him sat Ben Collins. Farther back and across the aisle sat Merrick and Angus McLaren, the Circle M owner on the outside seat.