“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.”
“But there must be rocks along there,” insisted the doctor. “Every one seemed to take it for granted that—”
“That’s the trouble, Doc—takin’ it for granted. I looked it over the day after the rain, when the dust was settled; and it’s as smooth as a billiard-table; not even a humpy spot on the road or along it. Go out and see for yourself.”
“Well, well! No, I’ll take your word for it. You don’t look like a person who would lie about it. You have very good eyes, my friend.”
“Thanks,” smiled Hashknife.
“But to get back to Jim Wheeler. I believe it was Joe Rich who discovered him first after the accident. They tell queer tales about Joe Rich. I knew him.”
“Like him?”