“Wal, I got—my boots—on—anyhow,” replied Blue, huskily.
He lurched into the yard and slid down on the grass and stretched out.
“Man! Y’u’re hurt bad!” exclaimed Blaisdell. The others halted in their slow march and, as if by tacit, unspoken word, lowered the body of Isbel to the ground. Then Blaisdell knelt beside Blue. Jean left Colmor to Gordon and hurried to peer down into Blue’s dim face.
“No, I ain’t—hurt,” said Blue, in a much weaker voice. “I’m—jest killed! ... It was Queen! ... Y’u all heerd me—Queen was—only bad man in that lot. I knowed it.... I could—hev killed him.... But I was—after Lee Jorth an’ his brothers....”
Blue’s voice failed there.
“Wal!” ejaculated Blaisdell.
“Shore was funny—Jorth’s face—when I said—King Fisher,” whispered Blue. “Funnier—when I bored—him through.... But it—was—Queen—”
His whisper died away.
“Blue!” called Blaisdell, sharply. Receiving no answer, he bent lower in the starlight and placed a hand upon the man’s breast.
“Wal, he’s gone.... I wonder if he really was the old Texas King Fisher. No one would ever believe it.... But if he killed the Jorths, I’ll shore believe him.”