an't think. There was a dash of his
father in what he did. And he'd have got away with it if--it hadn't
been for the automatic from somewhere else. The 'gunman' drew on him
first. That's clear. A dozen folk saw it. He'd boosted Alec and his
dame in the dance, and stretched Maude on the floor. And he did it
because he meant to. It was clumsy--which I guess was meant, too. I
don't reckon it looked like anything but a dance hall scrap. That's
where we see Pap in it. The 'gunman' got his dose in the pit of his
bowels, and a hole in his heart, while his own shots went wide, and
spoiled some of the gold paint in the decorations. The police tracked
out both bullets that came from his gun. But the automatic?"

He drew a deep breath pregnant with regret.

"It came from a distant point," he went on, after a pause. "There's
folks reckon it came from one of the boxes opposite where we were
sitting. How it didn't get some of the crowd standing around keeps me
guessing. The feller at the end of that gun was an--artist. He was a
jewel at the game. And it wasn't Pap. That's as sure as death. Pap
was standing yarning to a crowd at the bar when all the shots were
fired. And the story's on the word of folks who hate him to death. We
can't locate a soul who saw any other gun pulled. I'd say Pap's got
Satan licked a mile.

"Say, John," he went on, after another pause, "it makes this thing look
like a sink without any bottom for the dollars you reckon to hand out
chasing it up. The boy's out. And Pap's tracks--why, they just don't
exist. That's all. It looks like we've got to stand for this play the
same as we have to stand for most things Pap and his gang fancy doing.
I'm beat to death, and--sore. Looks like we're sitting around like two
sucking kids, and we can't do a thing--not a thing."

"But there's talk of two 'gunmen.'" Kars was sitting up. His attitude
displayed the urgency of his thought. "The folks all got it. I've had
it all down the sidewalk."

His emotions were deeply stirred. They were displayed in the mounting
flush under his weather-stained cheeks. In the hot contentiousness of
his eyes. He was leaning forward with his feet tucked beneath his
chair.

"Sure you have. So have I. So have the police." Bill's reply came
after a moment's deliberation. "Josh Wiseman handed that out. Josh
reckons he's seen them, and recognized them. But Josh is a big souse.
He's seeing things 'most all