“They’ll have to come through this way to get him, won’t they?” asked Hashknife.
“Unless they want to carry the body across the railroad bridge. Good gosh, things look worse for Joe Rich every day! I suppose he ran into the brakeman, eh?”
“Probably,” nodded Hashknife. “Of course he might have fell off the track that night. The wind was awful. If he struck his head on the rocks and slid into the water he’d die pretty quick. We’ll have to wait until they take him out.”
But they didn’t have to wait long. Inside an hour Kelsey, Ralston, Ben Collins and Abe Liston, of the 3W3, rode in at the HJ. No one had told Peggy and Laura about the dead man, and their curiosity was aroused by the advent of the sheriff and his men.
“Man got hit by a train out by the bridge,” said Hashknife.
“Was he killed?” asked Laura.
“I reckon he was.”
Hashknife went out and talked with Kelsey, who seemed a trifle sore about their finding the body.
“I suppose yuh fooled around and wiped out all the clues,” he said complainingly.
“Well, I dunno,” smiled Hashknife. “We didn’t go near the body, Sheriff.”