"Easy, Bud!" cautioned Wingle. "The boss ain't passed over yet. Bill,
you help Sinker here get the boss back home. The rest of you boys hit
the trail for the Blue. Fadeaway is like to be up in that country."
"Ante up, Loring!" said Shoop, mounting his horse. "I'll see your hand
if it takes every chip in the stack."
"Here, too!" chorused the riders. "We're all in on this."
They trailed along in single file until they came to the ford. They
reined up sharply. One of them dismounted and dragged the body of
Fadeaway to the bank. They grouped around gazing at the hole in
Fadeaway's shirt.
Shoop turned the body over. "Got it from in front," he said, which was
obvious to their experienced eyes.
"And it took a fast gun to get him," asserted Loring.
The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight on
the trail and the killing of Fadeaway.
"Jack was layin' a long way from here," said Wingle.
"When you found him," commented Loring.
"Only one hoss crossed the ford this morning," announced Shoop, wading
across the stream.
"And Fade got it from in front," commented a puncher.
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