Chapter VI: Part 6

“But it never was fired in Conley’s gun. He always kept the hammer of his gun on an empty shell, Slim. This shell had a queer dent in the primer, so I accidentally fired the gun to see what mark it made. That was the time Horse-Collar and his gang started the trouble. After the gravel in Mallette’s boots proved that he’d been dragged, I picked the judge as the killer.”

“Detectin’,” said Slim slowly, “ain’t nothin’ but jist common sense, is it?”

“And a lot of luck, Slim.”

“Well, I’ll be danged!”

Slim went clumping back into the house, anxious to talk.

* * * * *

Hashknife walked out to his gray horse and swung into the saddle. He was just a trifle weary and he wanted to get back to town, but Moran called to him, hurrying down from the rear of the house.

“How much do I owe you, Hartley?” he asked.

“What for?” asked Hashknife blankly.

“For what you’ve done. I realize it is more than I can ever pay you, but I--”

“Then I’ll always have somethin’ comin’,” grinned Hashknife. “Forget it, Moran. Right now I’m goin’ to town and fold myself around some ham and eggs. And then I’ll have to tell Sleepy what he missed. So long!”

He rode swiftly away, leaving Moran alone, check-book in hand. Mrs. Conley, Dawn and Pete came out on the porch, looking for Hashknife, but he was far down the road. Moran folded up his check-book and came back to the porch.

“I can’t figure him out,” said Moran.

“Pretty hard,” admitted Pete blankly. “He got me loose.”

“He’s wonderful,” said Dawn.

“Damn right!” said Mrs. Conley emphatically.

Which was all right with Hashknife, as long as he didn’t hear what was said.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 1, 1927 issue of Adventure magazine.]