"Well, Hall's got this town into a lot of trouble," Justice sighed. "If it hadn't been for him takin' a hand where nobody didn't ask him—"
"Nor want him," Larrimore cut in. "We can take care of ourselves here in Damascus."
"If it hadn't been for him interferin'," Justice continued, a little curved off from his main course, but determined, "we'd 'a' drove them fool boys off without killin' any of them. Simrall wouldn't 'a' had any come-back on us then. I told him as much last night."
"What did he say?" Dine inquired, craftily curious.
"He said did we want them fellers to murder old Bill Cottrell and go on away without anybody interferin' with 'em. I said I guessed we'd 'a' made out without any of his help."
"They know over in Simrall by now who they've got their come-back on," said Larrimore. A glance of appreciative understanding passed between him and Fergus. Kraus sat like a sack of bran, his long back against a post of the porch, his dull face inexpressive of any interest. Justice shifted a little, making his chair creak.
"Bill Cottrell was a derned old fool, slashin' around the way he did," Justice growled. "If he'd a kep' his danged old gun where it belonged they never would 'a' took a shot at him. When a man runs out with a gun in his hand lookin' for trouble, my experience has been he's purty sure to find it."
"Do you think he'll live?" Larrimore inquired.
"No, I don't. He's too old. Mortification'll set in to-morrow and he'll go. This slick doctor stands around tiptoein' like he's tryin' to lift himself by his boot-years, lookin' wise and knowin' nothin', actin like he's had a
