shore looks bad fer you, old-timer. The boss'll shore have t'
look into it when he gits here. Lucky we made up our minds t'
hold yuh--a murderer, like as not." He filled his pipe with
deliberation, while Casey, his jaw sagging, stared from one to
the other.

Casey had meant to accuse them to their faces of shooting Barney
and the burros from the rim-rock. It had occurred to him that if
they believed Barney dead, they might reveal something of their
purpose in the attack. Concealment, he felt vaguely, would serve
merely to sharpen their suspicion of him. It had seemed very
important to Casey that these three should not know that Barney
was probably well on his way to Barstow by now.

Barney in Barstow would mean Barney bearing news that Casey Ryan
was undoubtedly murdered by outlaws in the Panamints; which would
mean a few officers on the trail, with Barney to guide them to
the spot. Paw and Hank and Joe--outlaws all, he would have sworn
would get what Casey called their needin's. His jaw muscles
tightened when he thought of that, and the prospect held him
quiet under Joe's injustice.

"I can prove anything I'm asked to prove when the time comes," he
said sourly, and began to roll himself a cigarette, since his
pipe had gone out. "But I ain't in any courtroom yet, an' you
fellers ain't any judge an' jury."

"We got to hold ye," Paw spoke up unctiously, as if the decision
had been his. "Ef a crime's been committed, like you say it has,
we got to do our duty an' hold ye. The boss'll know what to do