It was Nash, his habitual
sneer grown more malevolent than ever.
"What of the feller that done it, Shorty?" he suggested.
"So help me God," said the cattleman, with surprising softness, "the
range ain't big enough to keep him away from me."
Drew, completing his bandage, said, "That's enough of such talk, Nash.
Let it drop there. Here, Kilrain, take his feet. Help me into the house
with him."
They moved in, the rest trailing behind like sheep after a bell-weather,
and it was astonishing to see the care with which big Drew handled his
burden, placing it at last on his own four-poster bed.
"The old man's all busted up," said little Duffy to Nash. "I'd never of
guessed he was so fond of Calamity."
"You're a fool," answered Nash. "It ain't Calamity he cares about."
"Then what the devil is it?"
"I dunno. We're goin' to see some queer things around here."
Drew, having disposed of the wounded man, carefully raising his head on
a pillow, turned to the others.
"Who saw Ben shot?"
"I did," said Kilrain, who was making his way to the door.
"Come back here.
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