proceedings.
'Must be the fella what found the body an' held up Foxy,'
Evans told him. Some of the sheriff's party had talked. 'If he's throwin' in with the Circle Dot, gettin' rid o' Ol' Dave ain't goin' to help much.'
'Ain't the Wagon-wheel dealin' with you now?' came the sarcastic query. 'Or are you tired o' livin'?'
'They are, an' I ain't, but I don't like 'em none the more for that,' the storekeeper retorted. 'If this burg has to sit up an' beg every time Trenton gives the word, it's a mighty pore prospect.'
'You said it. Dave Dover had a rough tongue, but he was a square shooter. Well, I got a box for him--it pays to keep 26one ready in this man's town--hut I'd liefer some other fella was to fill it.'
Rainbow was a small place, and utterly unlovely--a huddle of primitive buildings flung haphazard along one side of a sandy but unfailing stream. It boasted a bank, stores, an hotel --so-called--eating-house, and a sprinkling of private habitations. It owed its existence mainly to the proximity of two ranches--the Circle Dot and the Wagon- wheel--and also to the fact that its location and supply of water made it a convenient halt for trail-herds from more distant ranges bound for the Bend.
Relaxation was lavishly catered for; a facetious citizen once remarked, 'Take away her saloons, an' Rainbow very nearly ain't.' The most important of these were the Parlour, and Sody's. It was into the latter that the corpse of the murdered man, covered with a blanket, was carried and laid at one side of the cleared space in front of the bar. The sheriff was seated at a table, with half a dozen citizens ranged behind him; his eyes grew meaner when the Circle Dot contingent entered.
'Any need to fetch along them riders?' he snarled. 'They've as much right to be here as you have,' Dan told him.
'Well, let's git on. Gotta be reg'lar, but I reckon we're just losin' time on thisyer enquiry.'
'I didn't ask for it. Shore is a waste o' time; even you can't make it anythin' but murder.'
'That's for the jury to decide,' Foxwell snapped. 'I've selected 'em a'ready.'
'So I see--all men who didn't think much o' Dad.'
'It wouldn't 'a' bin easy to find six who did,' the sheriff sneered.
'An' that's a damned lie,' Dan flared. 'So now what?'
Before any reply could be made, a man, who had been kneeling beside the body, stood up. Dressed in a skirted coat which had once been black, a dirty boiled shirt, coarse trousers tucked untidily into the tops of his boots, he presented a picture of gentility in the last stages of decay. And his gaunt, clever, but dissipated features, and long, untended hair, added to the illusion, though he was little more than thirty years of 27 age. His red-rimmed eyes regarded the peace officer belligerently.
'Have you brought me from my bottle to listen to your wrangling?' he demanded, in a hoarse but cultured voice. 'Of course, Foxwell, if--by a miracle--you are about to fight and provide me with a patient, I am not objecting.'
The sheriff had no intention of fighting, despite the gibe; he found the interruption very timely.
'I'll take yore report first, Malachi,' he said.
'Doctor Malachi, to you,' came the correction. 'What do you imagine I can tell you? The man is dead--been so for fifteen hours, or more; shot from behind, doubtless from hiding, as seems to be the chivalrous custom in these parts. Here's the bullet, from which you will learn little; contact with the spinal column has distorted it.' He tossed the bloodstained pellet on the table, wiped his long, thin fingers on a rag of a handkerchief, and added, 'My fee is five dollars--cash.'
Foxwell stared at him. 'Hell, Doc, you ain't told us nothin' we didn't know,' he protested. 'Five bucks for diggin' out a slug?'
'That is my charge for extractions--teeth or bullets,' Malachi returned serenely. 'And remember, Sheriff, if you should chance to become ill, it would be most unfortunate if I were too occupied to attend you.'
The officer glowered but gave in, not unmindful of the fact that most of those present were enjoying the incident. The doctor, despite his loose habits and acid tongue was, by reason of his profession and education, a privileged person; he was, in truth, the only qualified medical man within a radius of fifty miles or more. Malachi picked up the bill Foxwell produced, walked to the bar, and appeared to take no further interest in the proceedings. The sheriff examined the fatal fragment of lead.
'Like Doc said, it don't tell us a thing,' he said, and Sudden could have sworn to the relief in his tone.
'My statement was that you wouldn't learn much,' a voice from the bar interjected. 'Weigh it, you idiot.'
Foxwell had to comply. Scales and an assortment of cart
ridges were fetched; only in one instance did the weights tally.
'She's a thirty-eight,' Hicks, who was making the tests 28announced. 'That don't git us much further, unless--' His gaze went to Sudden. 'What gun do you carry, Mister?'
'A forty-four,' the cowboy replied.
'No good foolin' about over the slug, thirty-eights ain't so scarce,' the sheriff said irritably. 'We wanta hear how that fella found the body.'
'I met young Dover in Sandy Bend an' mentioned I was needin' a job. He asked me to head for the Circle Dot, an' promised to follow later. On the way I heard a shot an', soon after, came upon the dead man. I was lookin' him over when the sheriff an' his posse turned up. Then--'
'Awright, I know the rest,' Foxwell cut in hastily.
'A murdered man, and another on the spot, that should have been enough evidence for you, Foxy. Why didn't you hang him?'
The sarcastic question came from the bar, and the sheriff unthinkingly told a half-truth. 'I changed my mind.'
'I don't blame you,' was the instant rejoinder. 'If I had a mind like yours I'd do the same.' A ripple of laughter followed, and the voice went on, 'Don't you think the jury might like to know the reason for this astounding departure from your usual methods?'
'The jury knows all it needs to,' the badgered man retorted.
'Including the decision it is to come to, I expect. Then why hold the enquiry? God! what a fool you are, Foxy.'
Purple in the face, the sheriff turned on his tormentor. 'When I want yore help I'll ask for it. Yo're--'
'Fee for a consultation is ten dollars, in advance--from you,' the doctor finished.
'Obstructin' the course o' justice.'
'Justice! Why, you couldn't spell the damn word, much less administer it,' Malachi laughed, and presenting his back, poured another drink.
The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief; he stood no chance in a verbal contest with that man. In an effort to regain his self-respect, he glared round the room.
'You got anythin' to say, Dover?'
'Plenty,' the young fellow replied, and told of the message his father had received. 'It did not come from me--it was a trap, an' it's an easy guess who set it.' - 29
'Guessin' won't git us nowhere; the Law demands proof,' Foxwell said unctuously.
'The Law here squats on it's rump an' does nothin',' Dan sneered. 'This ain't the first time a man has been done to death by a yellow-livered sneak afraid to show hisself. Well, I ain't askin' yore help, Sheriff; the Circle Dot can handle it.'
The officer scowled, and then, 'What is it, Bundy'?' as a lumpy cowboy in his early thirties, whose craggy face seemed to be endowed with a permanent sneer, stepped forward.
'All I wanta say is that yestiddy afternoon the en-tire Wagon-wheel outfit was workin' ten mile from where the shootin' took place.'
'Methinks the witness doth protest too much,' came a comment from the bar.
The sheriff swore. But evidently the statement was what he had been waiting for. 'We ain't gittin' no forader,' he said testily, and turned to the men standing behind him. Then, 'The jury finds that deceased died from a gun-shot wound, but there ain't no evidence to show who done it.'
'Had any existed, there would have been no enquiry,' Malachi added. 'Foxy, when my commodious abode needs white-washing, the job is yours.'
