The crowd surged around in their seats, gasping in amazement. Joe Rich was limping down the aisle. He was clad in an old gray shirt and a pair of bib-overalls, old misfitting shoes; his unshaven face, dirty; hair matted. A gasp went up from the crowd as Joe halted beside Hashknife and turned to look at them. He appeared years older, weak. His eyes were bloodshot, and the wrists below the shirt-sleeves were scored from rope burns.
“The main witness,” said Hashknife. “Look him over, folks. Does he look like a man who had killed and robbed?”
Still the crowd did not move. They seemed content to sit still and gaze at the man. Then a man strangled, a chair rattled. It was Ed Merrick, the owner of the Circle M. He had whirled in his chair and started for the door, running like a drunken man, but his way was blocked by Sleepy, Slim Coleman and Lonnie Myers and three guns were shoved in his face.
He stopped, staggered sidewise and whirled around, his gun in his hand. But before he could use it, Sleepy and Lonnie landed on him with a rush and he went down, struggling wildly.
Ben Collins had not moved. He merely flinched when Hashknife leaned across him and took away his gun. He seemed in a daze.
“Got him!” panted Sleepy.
Hashknife looked toward the doorway. Peggy was coming in, her eyes wide, staring down at Joe who had not seen her. Slim touched her on the arm, but she did not stop.
Hashknife beckoned her and she ran down the aisle. Joe turned and saw her coming toward him and the next moment he had her in his arms, while Hashknife hastily sidestepped and took Ben Collins by the arm.
“C’mon, Collins,” he said. “You need exercise.”
“Lemme have him,” said Nebrasky. “Me and Dan can handle him real good. I’ve got a rope handy.”