chewed twig from his mouth. “Yes, I’m glad you rode out. Yes, I’m right glad.”
“Well, I’ll be ridin’ back, I reckon. That boy I left in the feed store don’t know hay from oats. He shot Lester in the back.”
“Shot him in the back?”
“Yes, while he was hitchin’ his hoss.”
“I’m much obliged, Jim.”
“I kind of thought you’d like to know as soon as you could.”
“Come in and have some coffee before you ride back, Jim?”
“Why, no, I reckon not; I must get back to the store.”
“And you say—”
“Yes, Sam. Everybody seen ’em drive away together in a buckboard, with a big bundle, like clothes, tied up in the back of it. He was drivin’ the team he brought over with him from Muscogee. They’ll be hard to overtake right away.”
“And which———”
“I was goin’ on to tell you. They left on the Guthrie road; but there’s no tellin’ which forks they’ll take—you know that.”
“All right, Jim; much obliged.”
“You’re welcome, Sam.”
Simmons rolled a cigarette and stabbed his pony with both heels. Twenty yards away he reined up and called back:
