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Smokes smoothed the front of his vest, straightened his high-crowned Stetson, reholstered his gun, and adjusted his spectacles. "I don't enjoy fer t' have things like that happen," he said.
Craig was holding a .45 revolver backward, like a hammer. "He got hisself a mighty thick skull," he said as he kicked at the side of the sprawled Morisson. "Shucks now, I had t' whack 'im near a half-dozen times a'fore he fell."
Hopalong said, "He sure done got a grip on ya, Smokes. Whatcha call a bearhug. Ya never did git a chance t'shoot 'im. Fact is, when yer gun went off I figgered mebbe ye'd shot yer ownself in th' leg....."
"Whyn't ya jus' shoot 'im?" Smokes asked Craig.
"Didn't wanna risk hittin' ya," replied the gray man, " 'Sides, we might wanna talk t' 'im."
"Why fer?" Smokes wanted to know.
Craig's boot poked into the unconscious Morisson's side again. "Well, I figger he's gotta be this here Morisson."
Smokes made a small adjustment to the way his glasses rested on his nose. "Could be," he said. "In which case he oughter know somethin' 'bout this here gold." From his trouser pocket, he pulled the sack of gold nuggets he'd taken from Milton Hare. He set it carefully on the edge of the room's small wooden table. "More 'n our other friends admit t' knowin'."
Side by side on one of the cots, not touching each other, sat Katherine and her husband. Hare's lip was cut, and dried blood streaked from his mouth and across his cheek.
There was only one window in the main room of the shack, a lopsided rectangle cut out of the plank wall. Hopalong moved to the hole, frowning out at the early afternoon. "From whut we 'eard back at th' fort," he said, "Morisson's travelin' wi' that hill."
Smokes said, "Obvious he ain't chained t' 'im no more. Theys likely parted comp'ny long time ago."
"I don't like th' idea," Hopalong went on, "o' that hill bein' out there somewheres."
"Quit worryin' 'bout it, then," suggested Craig.
"Your big worry should be the Utes," said Hare from the cot. "They've already...."
Smokes crossed to him, slapped him across the face. "I tol' ya I don't want no dang talk outta ya. Not yet anyways. When I wanna know 'bout this here gold, then ya kin talk."
"We don't know any more about it than you do," said Katherine.
"You shut yer pie 'ole too, mam," said Smokes. He reached out with his hand. Instead of slapping her, he stroked her cheek once. "I always wuz partial t' yeller hair."
On the dirt floor, Morisson groaned, rocking slowly from side to side.
Smokes went over to stand beside him. "Looks like our papa grizzly's a'wakin' up."
"I'll git ya," murmured the giant.
Smokes drew his nickel-plated .45 revolver, and squatted to hold the barrel an inch from the space between Morisson's eyes. "Much as I'd like t' 'ave a lil' bit of a talk wi' ya, you guys gimme any more grief an' I'll shoot ya both dead. Git up now, an' don't ya try so much as touchin' me."
"Dang," said the giant as he rose. He saw the sack of nuggets and grabbed it.
Smokes whipped the gun barrel down hard on his knuckles. "Don't touch that either, papa grizzly."
Stopping still, not paying attention to his injured hand, Morisson said, "That's m' gold. That's m' claim. What're ya.....?"
"When it comes t' questions," said Smokes, "it's me who's a'gonna ask 'em, an' you who's gonna answer 'em, papa grizzly."
"Hey," said Hopalong, still watching the forest beyond the clearing, "where's yer hill friend?"
Morisson hesitated an instant, looking over his shoulder at the fat Hopalong. "Who you mean?"
"The hill ya broke outta th' Fort Lonestar stockade with," said Hopalong. "That's th' hill I mean."
"He....he went off on his own," said Morisson. "Yup, we split up las' night."
Striking a match on the table top, Craig lit a cigar. "That don't ring quite true."
"That slanty-eyed varmint's out there somewheres," said Hopalong.
"Fergit 'bout 'im fer now," said Smokes, picking up the pouch of gold. "Whut 'bout this, papa grizzly?"
"It's mine, dang it! Me an' Logan Brock did most o' th' work, most o' th' diggin' fer it. Ollie Potts an' Jonny didn't do nowhere near their share o' work. An' then Ollie killed Logan an...."
"He couldn't have," said Katherine, half-rising from the cot.
Morisson turned toward her. "Who're you, lady?"
"I'm Ollie's sister."
"Yeah, 'e talked 'bout ya," said the big man. "I don't care whut ya say, though, it weren't me who killed Logan. It was Ollie, hadda be him took th' axe to Logan. When I get a'hold a' 'im he'll tell ya that."
"He's dead," said Hare. "We just finished burying him when these three arrive."
"Daid?" Morisson rubbed a huge hand through his matted hair. "Who done 'im in?"
"Indians."
"Yup." Morisson's big head bobbed up and down. "Yup. Must be why th' gold's still here. 'Cause if Jonny...."
"Speakin' o' gold," said Smokes, "this sack all ya got?"
Morisson was slow to reply. "Yup, that's all. Ain't it enough? Why, dang stuff mus' be worth...."
"Afore we leave, we's a'gonna 'ave all th' gold there is t' be 'ad," Smokes told him.
"Any more gold yer a'gonna hafta dig it fer yerself."
"Maybe we'll dig it right outta you, papa grizzly."257Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzYBASYkWkk
