“No,” he said wearily to his lap. “To tell the truth, I don’t want to. I don’t know as I could stand it just now. I’m getting sick of this killing. It’s getting to me⁠—on my nerves, I mean.”

I sat down again, considered his low spirits, and asked:

“Who do you guess killed him?”

“God knows,” he mumbled. “Everybody’s killing everybody. Where’s it going to end?”

“Think Reno did it?”

Noonan winced, started to look up at me, changed his mind, and repeated:

“God knows.”

I went at him from another angle:

“Anybody knocked off in the battle at the Silver Arrow last night?”