“Not me,” replied Hashknife. “That’s the sheriff’s job.”
They rode back to the ranch and were just debating what to do, when Ben Collins came along on his way to town from the Circle M. Honey called to him and he stopped at the HJ gate.
“You’ll probably see Kelsey in town,” said Honey. “Tell him we found the brakeman of that cattle-train. He’s in the ditch on the west side of the railroad track, about three hundred yards south of the bridge. We heaped up a pile of rocks along the track, and the body is straight down from that. Tell Kelsey he’ll need help to get the body.”
Collins stared at Honey, his mouth agape. It was all Greek to him, it seemed.
“Well, I’ll be ⸺!” he snorted. “Let me get this straight.”
He repeated what Honey had told him, making a few mistakes, which Honey rectified.
“But who killed him?” he demanded.
“We don’t know, Ben.”
“Well, I’ll be ⸺! All right, I’ll tell him.”
Ben spurred his horse to a gallop and was soon out of sight.