“Oh, I was afraid of that,” he told himself.
He saddled his horse and went to the bunk-house, where he called to the boys.
“I’m goin’ to town,” he told them. “They just went past with that body. The man was shot at close range, and they’ll offer a reward for Joe Rich, dead or alive. I want to get a look at that body. Be back for supper, and for gosh sake, don’t let Peggy know what they said!”
Hashknife galloped away from the ranch, but did not try to overtake the sheriff and his party. They took the body straight to the doctor’s office. It happened that Doctor Curzon was the county coroner, and the case would require an inquest.
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 caliber 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.