The Rider of Golden Bar

by William Patterson White

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE FOOL-KILLER

  The district attorney, having looked carefully to the fastenings of hiswindows, tucked a six shooter under his pillow and began to unlace hisshoes. Came a rapping at his chamber door and the voice of hishousekeeper.

  "Say, Art, here's another of your infernal friends at the kitchen door.Says his name's Johnson."

  The district attorney, jumping at a conclusion, immediately reached forhis six-shooter. "I don't know any Johnsons. Not around here, anyway.What's he look like?"

  "Middlin' tall, scrubby lot of black whiskers, talks sort of thicklike."

  "Pebbles under his tongue, most likely. Tell him to come into thekitchen, so I can get a look without him knowing."

  "He won't come in. Says he wants you to come to the door your ownself. Says it's important."

  At which the district attorney was more than ever certain that themidnight visitor was Billy Wingo. "You go tell him that he'll have tocome into the kitchen before I'll talk to him. Close the kitchen doormost to. I can look at him through the crack."

  The housekeeper departed, and the district attorney slipped off hisshoes and tip-toed into the hall. The housekeeper, hair in curl papersand wearing a wrapper, met him before he reached the kitchen door.

  "He says he won't come in," she told him, "and told me to tell you hewanted to see about a note for five thousand dollars he has in hispocket."

  "Now I know who it is," said the district attorney. "You go to bed.I'll let him in."

  After the district attorney heard the slam and following click of hishousekeeper's door, he went into the kitchen, turned down the flame ofthe lamp and opened the kitchen door.

  "That you, Rale?" inquired a muffled voice.

  "Yes! Come in! Come in!"

  The man in outer darkness spat out two pebbles. "Is that damn womanthere?" he asked in the natural tone of voice of Jack Murray.

  "No! Come _in_! I want to shut the door."

  Jack Murray entered quickly.

  "What in hell are you doing here?" demanded the district attorney, whenhe and the other were behind the closed door of the office. "Don't youknow----"

  "I wanted to see you," Jack Murray said, seating himself in the nearestchair. "Ain't you glad to see me?"

  "Not very," the district attorney said frankly. "If you get caught----"

  "I ain't gonna get caught. The man ain't born yet to catch me. Isuppose you got the money for that note."

  "No, I haven't."

  "Why haven't you?"

  "I couldn't raise it."

  "What's the matter with you? Ain't you got any credit left?"

  "Folks won't lend money unless they get security, and I haven't anysecurity that hasn't already been put up."

  "_He_ didn't ask for security," thus Jack Murray with an indescribableleer.

  "That--was--different."

  "I guess it was. Yeah. I always had an idea you were a rich man."

  "A lot of people thought so," the district attorney said bitterly. "Asa matter of fact, I've been hard pressed for money all my life. I'vealways had a hand in too many deals."

  "You were able to chip in on that reward for me without any trouble."

  "I knew I'd never have to pay it. Some day, when all my differententerprises pan out, I'll have money, but now I haven't got any."

  "How about that bribe in the Jacksboro range case last fall? Why, theymust have paid you all of three or four thousand dollars."

  The district attorney shook his head. "No, only twenty-five hundred,and two thousand of that went for some insurance I had to pay inJanuary."

  "Two thousand dollars for insurance!"

  "That's what I said."

  "You're lying. Whoever heard of two thousand dollars for insurance?"

  "Oh, I wasn't the only one. Rafe had to pay the same. And Tip athousand. Oh, never mind trying to understand it. It's too long astory now."

  "I guess it is. I ain't carin' much about listening to any suchstories, anyway. I didn't ride alla way north from Dorothy just forthat. I want the money for that note."

  "I haven't it, and you could have gotten that information by writingfor it. You didn't have to take the trip. You----"

  "The money ain't all I come for. I want to settle my li'l account withBill Wingo."

  "I thought that li'l account was closed," said the district attorney,with the shadow of a sneer that Murray did not catch.

  "It won't be closed till Bill Wingo is pushin' up the grass," averredJack Murray. "This territory ain't big enough for the two of us."

  "If you had any sense it would be."

  "Meanin'?"

  "Meaning that Bill Wingo is a pretty cold proposition for you tohandle."

  "I'm better than he ever thought of being, and don't you let anybodytell you different. I'll get that ---- ---- if I have to follow him tohell! Damn his soul! If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be where I amnow! If it wasn't for him, I'd be sheriff of this county! If itwasn't for him-- Oh, I got a-plenty reasons for putting that Wingowhere he belongs."

  "Sally Jane, huh?" the district attorney supplied with malice.

  "I didn't say anything about Sally Jane."

  "I know you didn't. But I got eyes, man. I'll bet you like her still."

  "Don't you lose any sleep over who I like."

  "I ain't. I only thought you might be interested in knowin' that sheand Bill are thick again, like they used to be. Thicker, you mightsay."

  Jack Murray's thin lips became thinner. "Skinny Shindle told mesomethin' about him switching to Hazel Walton."

  "Don't you believe it," blattered the district attorney, continuing torapidly pump the bellows on the fire of Jack Murray's hatred. "HazelWalton was only a passing fancy. Sally Jane is the girl for him, youcan gamble on it. Tough luck, Jack. I'll bet you'd have stood betterthan a fighting chance with her if she hadn't listened to his lies."

  "He'll never have her!" snarled Jack Murray, wagging a vicious head."By Gawd, he won't!"

  "I guess she thinks he will--when this muss is cleared up," said thedistrict attorney, with admirably simulated carelessness. "Hazel--Imean Sally Jane----"

  "Yeah, Hazel! I'd say Hazel, I would. I should think her name _would_stick in your craw!"

  "Well, never mind about that. I fixed it once to turn her loose, buthere this Jonesy comes squallin' for her scalp to-night, and I had topromise to have her arrested to-morrow. What else could I do?"

  "Just as if you wanted it any other way! Why, I'll bet you even fixedit with Jonesy to raise a roar so that you'd get this second chance ather. What did that li'l girl ever do to you? Not that I give adamn--just between friends."

  "She cost me some money, if you want to know," snarled the districtattorney, who saw red every time he thought of the two thousand dollarshe had been taxed by Billy Wingo for Hazel's benefit. "And anybodythat costs me money will pay for what they get. Look here," he addedwith an abrupt change of subject, "how did you find out Bill was stillin this county?"

  Jack Murray gripped the district attorney's wrist. "Do you know wherehe is?"

  Rale shook off the restraining hand. "I don't know exactly where heis," he said coldly, "but I'm reasonably sure he's round heresomewhere. Good Gawd, man, don't you suppose if I knew where he was,I'd have him dumped so quick his hair would curl?"

  Jack Murray nodded. "He's round here all right, unless he's gone northbeyond the West Fork. I cut his trail at Dorothy."

  "Was he there?"

  "Considerable. Yeah, him and another feller were there. Between 'emthey caught Slike."

  "Were you with Slike?"

  "Not at the time he was caught, I wasn't. But a while before that Imet him in Shadyside and I told him what Skinny Shindle wrote about theHorseshoe outfit needin' gunfighters. Slike, he didn't want to leavethe country yet, anyway, and we decided to throw in with the Horseshoea spell."

  "But how did Bill----"

  "Tra
iled us, I suppose. First thing I knew, here we found Skinny deadas Julius Caesar alongside Fenley's Creek, and Slike he'd disappearedcomplete. There'd been a brush, and Shindle and a TU puncher hadcashed."

  "And where were you during the--brush?"

  "I was on the other side of the range with a couple of the Horseshoebunch payin' a visit to a nester. If I'd been with Slike and Skinny,the deal would have turned out different, and you can stick a pin inthat."

  "Yes, you'd have been downed or dumped too."

  "Meanin' you wished I had been."

  "I didn't say so," the district attorney hastened to assure him.

  "You don't always have to say so," said Jack Murray, with heavysuspicion. "I'm reading you like a page of big print, you lizard!"

  The district attorney forced a laugh. "You're too clever for me, Jack.Look here, what makes you think it was Bill Wingo caught Slike?"

  "Because no posses from here went south so far, and because if anybodyelse but Bill had caught him, he'd either have been killed outright orbrought into Dorothy or Marquis, and there'd have been a big time.Instead of that, there wasn't a peep. So it must have been Bill, see?"

  "I see. And you're going to get this Bill?"

  "You've got the idea,"

  "And you trailed him here?"

  "I didn't have to. I knew he'd bring Slike to Golden Bar, so I camealong the shortest way. It'll be quite a joke on you, this Slikebusiness. Will he snitch, do you think?"

  "He'd better not."

  "You frown at him thataway, and you'll scare him to death, Art. He'sone timid fawn, that Slike person."

  "He'll be----"

  "Never mind what he'll be, Art. That's his business, and yours. Ididn't come here to help Slike. I came here to get Bill and help yourstruly. I want some money."

  "I told you I haven't any."

  "But you can get it."

  "I told you folks want security."

  "That will do to tell somebody else besides me. I've got my growth andcut most all my teeth a long time since. You'll have to raise somemoney--say about fifteen hundred."

  "You might as well make it fifteen thousand."

  "Maybe I will. Thousand sounds kind of good. Say about three of 'em.Three thousand dollars, Art, and I'll let you alone a while."

  "But I tell you----"

  "And I tell you that if you don't, that same identical note with awritten account of what I know goes to Judge Donelson."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Think I wouldn't? You don't know me, feller. When it comes to money,I'm the most daring cuss you ever saw. That's me, Jack Murray. Threethousand dollars, Artie, or you'll wish you'd never been born."

  "I can't raise it," the district attorney insisted despairingly.

  "I kind of thought you'd stick to that poverty squeal," smiled JackMurray, fishing a folded paper from a shirt pocket. "So I took carebefore I came here to write down what I know about this li'l deal. Ithought you might like to see how interestin' it all looks on paper.Hang your eyes over it, feller. Never mind snatchin' at it! I'll holdit for you to read. See, there's my name signed to it all complete.How do you like it, huh? Gives you a thrill, don't it? I'll bet itwill give Judge Donelson two thrills. And as an evidence of goodfaith, to show you I still got it safe, here's your note for that fivethousand. It will go with the letter to the judge--unless you listento reason and raise the three thousand-- What's that?"

  "That" was a rapping on the kitchen door.

  "Go in the bedroom," whispered the district attorney with a very paleface. "You can slide out one of the windows, if I have to let him in."

  "I'll go in the bedroom," Jack Murray whispered back, with a chillingsmile, "but I ain't sliding out of any windows--not until you and Ihave come to an agreement about that money. I'll stick right there inthe bedroom, Mister Man, right there where I can keep an eye on you.Now go see what's wanted."

  "You don't think I've stacked the cards on you, do you?" grunted thedistrict attorney.

  "I don't," replied Jack Murray. "Not while I've got that note and theDonelson letter in my pocket, you bet I don't. I ain't worryin' amite, not me. Run along now, there's a good boy. Papa will be rightin the next room."

  Thus adjured, the district attorney ran along. Yet not withoutheart-thumping misgivings. For his was a fearful soul that night. Agreat deal had happened to upset him.

  On his demand that the late caller declare himself, a voice whispered,"It's me, Guerilla Melody. Let me in quick."

  "What do you want to see me about?"

  "I got a bargain to make with you--a bargain about Bill Wingo."

  "Did Bill Wingo send you?"

  "You can take it that he did."

  After all, why not? What danger was there in listening to the detailsof Guerilla's bargain? Perhaps he would learn something. Quite so.The district attorney unlocked the kitchen door and opened it.

  A tall man pushed in at once. The tall man had a sardonic gleam in hisgray eyes, a ragged brown beard, and a derringer. The twin-barreledfirearm was pointing directly at the stomach of the district attorney.The district attorney's gun arm hung up and down. The tall,brown-bearded man shot out a quick left hand and deftly twitched awaythe district attorney's weapon.

  "You won't need that," he remarked in a hoarse whisper, tucking thesix-shooter into his waistband. "Have you any other weapon on yourperson? Hold still while I look. No, I guess you haven't. We willnow go into your office, Arthur. I have a li'l something for yourprivate ear. I guess I'll lock the kitchen door, so we won't run anyrisk of being disturbed."

  So saying he reached behind him, slammed the door shut, shook it, andturned the key in the lock. The key he dropped into a trouser's pocket.

  "What are you waiting for?" he demanded, still in that hoarse whisper.

  The district attorney found his tongue--and stood his ground. "Where'sGuerilla?"

  "I don't know. He left when you decided to let him in. You see, Ithought you'd be more likely to open up if it was some one you knew, soI got Guerilla to do the honors. Just a li'l trick, Arthur, just ali'l trick. You're such a shy bird. No hard feelings, I hope. No?Yes? Well?"

  "Whonell are you?"

  "Me? Oh, I'm the Fool-Killer. Let us walk into your office says thefly to the spider, you being the spider, of course. And if the fly hasto say it again, the spider will have something to think about besidesthe pitfalls of this wicked world. Thank you. I thought you would.And bear in mind that any wild snatches toward table drawers and soforth will be treated as hostile acts."

  The district attorney continued to lead the way into the office. Hestarted to sit down in his accustomed chair behind the table.

  "Not there--there," said the brown-bearded man, indicating a chair onthe other side of the table. "I'd rather sit on the drawer sidemyself. Not that I expect you to gamble with me, Arthur. But in mybusiness we can't afford to take chances. Are you ready. Gentlemen,be seated."

  He uttered the last three words in his natural voice. The districtattorney failed to suppress a bleak smile.

  "There's my old Arthur," approved Billy Wingo. "I knew he'd be glad tosee me, give him time."

  "Yes, indeed," declared the district attorney in a loud voice. "I'malways glad to see Bill Wingo. Bill Wingo, you bet."

  Billy Wingo's gray eyes narrowed. "Not quite so loud," he reproved thedistrict attorney. "No need to disturb the neighbors."

  "Why, no, of course not." The grimy soul of the district attorneycapered with joy. What luck! Here was his enemy, and there was hisenemy's enemy in the very next room. It would make a cat laugh. Itwould indeed.

  "Arthur," said Billy, "I've been hearing bad reports of you. Iunderstand you've decided to have Miss Walton arrested. Is thatcorrect?"

  "Correct, sure. Sorry, but the law's the law, you know."

  "You remember what I said I'd do to you."

  The district attorney dismissed this with a simple wave of the hand."
Oh, that. A mere bluff."

  "It may not be quite as mere as you seem to think. Let me argue withyou, Arthur. Suppose I can prove that Dan Slike was at Miss Walton'sthe night Rafe Tuckleton was murdered. Would that help any?"

  "You can't prove it."

  "Oh, yes, I can. When he was there, he stole her hat, besides someother stuff, and inside the sweatband of the hat he stuffed the foldedupper half of the front page of the Omaha _Bee_. The other half of thenewspaper was found at the Walton ranch house by Shotgun Shillman. Hehas it now, and when Slike was caught, he was wearing Miss Walton'shat, and inside the sweatband was this particular folded upperhalf-page I'm telling you about. This evidence is in the possession ofGuerilla Melody right now. When this comes out at the trial, whywouldn't that show that Slike was in the vicinity when Tuckleton waskilled? And being in the vicinity, why----"

  "Impossible!" snapped the district attorney. "I don't see how it couldbe hung on him."

  "Won't you even have his presence there investigated?" Why, Bill wasactually pleading. The district attorney swelled his chest like aturkey cock. He would show Bill that he couldn't be bluffed. Not he.

  "No, I won't have his presence at the Walton ranch investigated. Inthe first place----"

  "In the first place," said Billy, "I know he didn't kill Tuckleton."

  "Then why are you trying to prove he did?"

  "Just to see what you'd say. Just to see how dead set againstinvestigating Slike you are. Just to double-cinch the proof againstthe real criminal. You know that Dan Slike didn't kill Tuckleton, butthat isn't why you don't dare read his trail too much. One reason isthat if you do, he'll be sure to blat right out how you and Felix andSam Larder helped him to escape from the calaboose. Don't blush,Arthur. I know how modest you are. So we'll take it I'm right."

  "Oh, you're welcome to what you think," said the district attorney."But just for the sake of argument, how do you know that Slike didn'tkill Tuckleton?"

  "Because the initialed butcher knife Slike took with him from MissWalton's was still on him when he was caught."

  "There must have been two knives!"

  "There were two knives, but only one belonged to Miss Walton. Rale,when you and Felix and Larder caught Red Herring in the draw a fewminutes before you found the dead body of Tuckleton, why didn't you askmore questions about Red being there so handy?"

  "Because Red couldn't have had anything to do with it."

  "I know he couldn't, but you weren't supposed to know he couldn't. Youwere supposed to ask questions about any suspicious circumstances, anddid you? Not a question did you ask in town as to Red's movements thatevening. You simply took his word for it, which wasn't natural--exceptunder a certain condition. A certain condition, you understand, and itnever occurred to me until I found that second knife. It would havesaved a lot of trouble if I had thought of it sooner. Rale, you didn'task any questions either about Red being in the draw or Slike being atthe Walton ranch house, and you gave out that Miss Walton herself hadkilled Tuckleton because you had planned ahead that she was the one youwere going to hang the murder on. And why did you have it plannedahead? And how did you know it all so certain sure? How, damn you,how? Because you killed Tuckleton yourself!"

  The district attorney sat perfectly still. His eyes stole toward thebedroom door. What on earth was the matter with Jack Murray? Whydidn't he shoot?

  "I don't know why you killed him," went on the inexorable voice, "butyou did. I've found out that early last spring you went to Nate Samsonand borrowed his hardware catalogue, Nate being the only storekeeperhere handling hardware. Yes, Nate. I knew you must have gone to Nate,because you weren't out of town all winter, that's how. Nate said thatyou were the only customer to borrow the catalogue. He said too thatyou told him when you returned it that you hadn't found what youwanted. I sent a telegram to the supply house getting out thiscatalogue, and their answer stated that you had ordered from them backin February, a butcher knife, paying for it in stamps. They gave thecatalogue number of this butcher knife, and the catalogue number is thesame number as that of the butcher knife with which Tuckleton waskilled. You cut TW on the handle of this knife, rusted it a little andground it some, and then you--well, after you did for Rafe there in thedraw near her house, you rode back to Golden Bar, gassed a while withFelix and Sam, and then you were in such a sweat to get the thingsettled you couldn't even wait till next day. You had to ride out toquestion Miss Walton that same night. Another unnecessarycircumstance. Rale, you rat, I've got you right where you can't evenwriggle."

  Billy leaned across the table to emphasize what he was saying, heard aslight sound in the bedroom and promptly blew out the lamp. With aheave of one arm he slammed the table over on the district attorney.The latter, taking the table to his bosom, went over backward, togetherwith the chair he sat in, and wallowed on the floor.

  Bang! a six-shooter crashed in the bedroom. A streak of yellow flamecut the darkness. A bullet snicked into the floor a yard from whereBilly crouched. He emptied his derringer at the flash and changedposition hurriedly. As he pulled his six-shooter, there was anothershot from the bedroom, a shot that wrung an apprehensive yelp from thedistrict attorney.

  "Don't shoot so far to the right! Y'almost hit me! He's over to theleft more. About where the red chair stands."

  This would never do. Never. First thing Billy knew, he would be shot.He stretched forth a hand, and breathed an inward curse. There wascertainly a chair not a foot from his face. Taking care not to make asound he lifted the chair by one leg and lobbed it through the air inthe general direction of the district attorney. The results wereimmediate. The chair arrived, the district attorney squawked, and theman in the bedroom fired again, not according to the orders of thedistrict attorney, but toward the spot where the chair had fallen.Billy pulled trigger at the flash of the other's gun. Then he began tocrawl toward the bedroom door. He was a thorough believer in thedoctrine of "getting in where it's warm." He succeeded beyond hisexpectations. The occupant of the bedroom, who had removed his boots,tiptoed around the door jamb and stepped on Billy's hand.

  Both guns exploded simultaneously. What happened next has never beenclear in Billy's mind. He only knows that his head rang like a struckbell at the shot, and burning powder grains stung his ear and neck. Hefired blind. A voice above his head cried aloud on the name of God, ahot and sweaty body collapsed upon him, and he dragged himself out fromunder precisely in time to glimpse the district attorney who, havingtorn open the door into the hall, was silhouetted for an instantagainst the dim radiance emanating from the kitchen.

  Billy hunched his right shoulder, took a snapshot, and drove anaccurate bullet through the right leg of the district attorney.

  "He's comin' around," said Shotgun Shillman. "You shot too high, Bill.Y'ought to held lower, and you'd drilled his heart or anyway, a lung.Now he'll be a invalid nuisance for a while, like Rale."

  "If I'd known you'd be so upset about it, I'd obliged you, Shotgun,"returned Billy sarcastically. "As a matter of fact, I wanted both of'em alive. You can't try dead men.

  "That's so," assented Shotgun. "But what a waste of time, when-- Oh,all right, all right, Bill. Have it your own way. You're the dog withthe brass collar, even if you do have to sleep in the jail till thewarrants against you are annulled."

  "What's Jack trying to do?" Riley Tyler asked. "Here, take that out ofyour mouth!"

  It was Billy who reached Jack Murray first. He snatched the waddedball of paper from Jack before he could close his teeth over it. Jackgroaned.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you," apologized Billy. "But I had to grab yourjaw. You were so quick."

  "You didn't hurt me," snarled Jack Murray. "It was somethin' else."

  "What is the thing?" queried Guerilla Melody.

  Billy smoothed out the crumpled wad. It appeared to be a letter and apromissory note.

  "I forbid you to read that!" cried the district attorney, attempting tod
rag himself across the floor toward Billy. "That letter is personaland my private property!"

  "You lie quiet," directed Riley Tyler. "If you go busting thosebandages open, I'll bust you. Lie back, lie down, and take it easy.There's nothing for you to get excited over. Everything's all right.Yeah. That's the boy. Do as Uncle says."

  "What's the writing, Bill?" inquired Shotgun. "Read her off."

  Billy read:

  JUDGE HIRAM DONELSON, Hillsville.

  DEAR SIR:--The man who killed Rafe Tuckleton is the county prosecutorArthur Rale. Rale owed Tuckleton five thousand dollars on a note andcouldn't pay it. Rafe wanted his money. Early in the evening on theday he was killed, Tuckleton came to Rale's house where I was at thetime, and demanded payment. He brought the note with him. Ralerefused and they quarreled. Tuckleton had been drinking. BeforeTuckleton left, he said he was going to the Walton ranch. After heleft, Rale told me he had planned some time ago to kill Tuckleton andget the note back at the first opportunity. This looked like a goodopportunity. Rale showed me a butcher knife. He said it was just likeone at the Walton ranch. He had cut Tom Walton's initials on thehandle so it would be like it. Rale said he had tried to get theoriginal knife, but had not been able to. This one he had fixed up hadto do. He said when his knife was found on Rafe's body, everybodywould think Hazel Walton had killed him, and nobody would believe herif she said the knife wasn't hers. He had it in for Hazel anyway, hesaid, and by rubbing out Rafe and laying the blame on her, he'd win twobets at one throw. Suppose they found the regular Walton knife, Isaid. Rale said it wouldn't make any difference. Anybody might knowshe could easy have two knives. Well, he offered me two hundreddollars cash to kill Rafe with this knife. I wouldn't do it, so he hada couple of drinks and said he'd kill Rafe himself. He asked me to gowith him. I went, and we hung around Walton's till Tuckleton came out,and then we followed him, and Rale stopped him down the draw and said,I've got the money for you, Rafe. And Tuckleton got off his horse andthen Rale stepped up close to him and let him have it. He stuck theknife in him a couple of times after Tuckleton was down and wrigglinground. When Tuckleton was dead, Rale took the note out of Tuckleton'spocketbook, and I held Rale up and took the note away from him. Ithought maybe I might want to show him up some day, or sell it to himor something, when he got hold of some money. I was going to make himpay for it, one way or another.

  Here is the note he took off Tuckleton.

  The district attorney will tell you who I am if I don't, so I haven'tany objections to signing my name. I'll be in Old Mexico by the timeyou read this, anyway. So long, and give Rale what he deserves.

  Yours truly, (Signed) JACK MURRAY.

  Billy handed the letter and the Rale note to Shotgun Shillman, whofolded both carefully and slipped them into an inner pocket of hisvest. "And did you hear Rale say these were his private property?"

  Shotgun Shillman nodded happily. "Even without 'em, there is enoughevidence to hang him. But there's nothing like swinging a wide loop ifyou want to rope two at a clatter."

  Billy's eyes followed Shotgun's side glance at Jack Murray. "Youneedn't look at me thataway," snarled Jack. "I'm no snitch! I onlywrote that letter to throw a scare into Rale. I'd never have sent itto the judge a-tall!"

  "Maybe you're no snitch," Billy flung back, with deep disfavor, "evenif it does look like it, but you were skunk enough to let an innocentgirl be blamed for murder."

  "That was different. She hadn't ought to horned in on what was none ofher business. If she hadn't-- Oh, hell, what's the use? Gimme achew, somebody."