"High time," barked Wallie with a fire that was unusual. "The boys that had horses handy went after that critter," explained Jim Bates. "Maybe they'll catch him." "And if they do," said Wallie, "they'll jail him the same as they did Mort, an' ten minutes after Slim's back's turned, he'll be scot-free again." "I thought you had a hunch," said Jim Bates, "that it was yer Uncle Bryant that let Mort out of the calaboose." "That's what I thought." "Mebbe this _hombre_ that rid away won't have no Uncle Bryant tuh let him loose." The door opened, and men came in carrying a still form which they placed on the plank floor near the wall. "He's dead," one of them said, looking at Wallie with a strange expression. "Is it anyone we know?" asked Bates. One of the newcomers nodded seriously. "Yup, it shore is." He stood aside. One leg showed the red result of a bullet wound, but this was hardly more than a scratch. In the back of his neck the handle of a knife still showed. The man was Mort Cavendish. "My brother!" exclaimed Wallie. "It's Mort." He wheeled to the silent men around him. "Who done this?" he asked. "Who'd want to kill poor Mort? He never hurt no one in his life. He--" Jim Bates stepped up. "Listen tuh me," he said sharply. "We don't want none of yer crocodile actin' around here. In the first place, whoever stuck that knife in Mort's neck saved him bein' strung up tuh hang fer killin' his wife. You know that damned well. In the second place, yuh never gave a damn about any of yer family, an' yuh still don't. With Mort done fer, it's jest one less tuh whack up Bryant's Basin." Wallie stood a moment, then he said in a calmer voice, "All right, Bates, Bryant's gone an' Mort's killed. Now let's figure out who done it." "What the hell d'you care?" Wallie was obviously not well liked by the men in Red Oak. Their manner showed that they cared nothing about helping him. The man who died had deserved killing, and no sympathy was wasted. If the murderer had walked in at that moment, it was quite likely that he would have been told that his duty was to handle the burial expenses as a moral obligation, then take drinks on the house. "Only thing I don't like," muttered someone, "is this knifin' business. It ain't good form no-ways. Why the hell, when that critter dropped Mort with the shot in the leg, didn't he finish him with another slug, 'stead o' stickin' him like this?" "You can't leave him there," said Jim Bates. "What d'ya want done with the remains?" Wallie dug into his pocket and dumped what cash he had on the hotel desk. "You handle things," he told Bates. "Have the coroner do whatever has to be done, then hire someone with a cart to haul him to the Basin. I'll have him buried there." Bates nodded, scooping up the cash. "I'll tend tuh things. Whatever Mort had in his pockets was took out by Peasley when he jailed him. I reckon you c'n get his cash an' whatever else he had from Slim." "I will."