“Looks like one of those things hombres use to drag steers around with.”
“Can’t fool you, can I?” I grunted. “Ever see this particular one before?”
He took a minute or more to think up an answer to that.
“Yeah,” finally. “Fact is, I lost that same rope somewheres between here and town this morning.”
“Know where I found it?”
“Don’t hardly make no difference.” He reached for it. “The main thing is you found it.”
“It might make a difference,” I said, moving the rope out of his reach. “I found it strung down the canyon wall, behind Bardell’s, where you could slide down it after you potted Nisbet.”
His hands went to his guns. I turned so he could see the shape of one of the pocketed automatics I was holding.
“Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for,” I advised him.
“Shall I gun this la‑ad now?” Dunne’s brogue rolled from behind me, “or will we wa‑ait a bit?”
I looked around to see him standing behind a boulder, a .30‒30 rifle held on me. Above other rocks, other heads and other weapons showed.
I took my hand out of my pocket and put it on my saddle horn.
Peery spoke past me to the others.
“He tells me Nisbet’s been shot.”
“Now ain’t that provokin’?” Buck Small grieved. “I hope it didn’t hurt him none.”