"Wasn't one stranglin' enough for spreadin' out Purdy? What do they
want of the pilgrim?"

"Spreadin' out Purdy!" exclaimed the other, "don't you know that Purdy
didn't stay spread? Wasn't hardly hurt even. The pilgrim's bullet
just barely creased him, an' when Sam Moore went back with a spring
wagon to fetch his remains, Purdy riz up an' started cussin' him out
an' scairt Sam so his team run away an' he lost his voice an' ain't
spoke out loud since--an' them's only one of the things he done. So,
you see, you done your lynching too previous, an' folks is all stirred
up about it, holdin' that lawless acts has got to be put a stop to in
Choteau County, an' a pilgrim has got as good a right to live as the
next one. They're holdin' that even if he had got Purdy it would of
be'n a damn good thing, an' they wasn't no call to stretch a man for
that. So the grand jury set, an' the districk attorney has got a gang
of men diggin' up all the coulees for miles around, a-huntin' for the
pilgrim's cripus delinkty so he kin go ahead with his arrests."

The eyes of the Texan were fixed on the mountains. He appeared not
interested. Twenty feet away in a deep crevice at the edge of the
coulee, Bat Lajune, who had overheard every word, was convulsed with
silent mirth.

"You say they've dug up all the coulees? Red Rock an'--an' all,
Buffalo, Six-mile, Woodpile, Miller's?" The Texan shot out the names
with all appearance of nervous haste, but his eye was sombre as before
as he noted the gleam of quick intelligence that flashed into the
cowboy's eyes. "You're sure they dug up Buffalo?" he pressed shrewdly.