me it is between us, so why don't w e just empty our pockets on the table here so everybody ca n see what we're carrying.
"The Kid is handy at readin' sign, so maybe he will se e something that will tell him which one of us is the killer."
He moved closer, his eyes dancing with a taunting amusement. "How about it, Kid'?"
The Kid's eyes shifted from one to the other, the on e taunting and challenging, the other stubborn and angry.
"Why not'?" Bantam thrust a big hand into his pocke t and began putting the contents of his pockets on the table.
The man who called himself Texas did likewise.
"There it is, Kid. Look it over!"
Joe Chance leaned over the bar to watch, as did Sli m Reynolds and Art Vertrees, the only others present.
In the pile Texas made were a worn tobacco pouch, a jackknife, a plug of chewing tobacco, several coins, a smal l coil of rawhide string, and a small handful of gold coin s wrapped in paper. There were two rifle bullets.
In Bantam's pile there was a wad of paper money, som e sixty dollars worth, some small change, a Mexican silve r peso, a jackknife, a plug of chewing tobacco, a stub pipe, a tight ball of paper, a comb, and some matches.
Thoughtfully, the Cactus Kid looked over the two piles.
There was nothing that could be identified with any man.
It was merely such stuff' as could be found in the pocket s of any cowhand. Except -- he picked up the ball of tightl y rolled paper and slowly unrolled it.
It unfolded into a plain sheet of writing paper that ha d been folded just once. There were also marks that made i t appear the paper had been folded about something. Th e crinkling from being rolled up was obviously more recen t that the soiled line of the old crease.
It was not the fold the Kid was noticing, nor the fain t imprint of what might have been carried within that folde d sheet but rather the diagonal line of the sweat stain tha t ran across the papers.
That ain ' t mine!" Bantam protested. I had no suc h paper in my pocket!" He was suddenly frightened and hi s lips worked nervously. "I tell you -- I"
Texas had drawn back to one side, poised and ready.
The Cactus Kid drew the dead man's papers from hi s pocket and placed them beside the folded paper. Th e diagonal sweat stains matche d perfectly.
"So?" Texas said. "It was you, Bantam! You killed him!"
"You're a liar!" Bantam said angrily. "I done no -- !"
Texas' hand streaked for his gun, and Bantam grabbe d at his own gun. The two shots sounded almost as one, bu t it was Bantam who fell.
Texas holstered his gun. Had no idea he d draw on me , but a man's got to watch those kind."
Nobody replied, and he gathered his things from th e bar and went outside.
The Kid turned back to Joe Chance. "Better give m e another shot of rye; then I'm picking up my caliw an d headin' for home. This town's too sudden for me."
Two of the bystanders took t he big man's body out, an d later Sl i m Reynolds came in. "He must have cached tha t stolen money somewhere because he surely didn't have i t on him."
"Bantam's had it coming for a long time,"- Vertrees said , "and Texas was right. He never killed anybody in a fai r fight."
"What about that grulla mustang ot' his'?" Reynolds asked.
"That's a mighty fine horse."
The Kid put his g l ass down on the bar. "Did Banta m ride the grulla'? Are you sure? "
"Of course, Vertrees replied, surprised. I w as on th e street when he rode in. He was only a little ahead o f Texas, who was riding a bay."
The Cactus Kid turned and started for the door. He wa s in the saddle and started down the street when he though t of the calico.
Bonita wouldn't like this. He had promised her faithfully he'd return with that calico, and after all, huntin g killers was the sheriff's job. Angrily, he turned the pain t and trotted back to the store. "Got some red and whit e calicos" he asked.
"Sure haven't! I'm sorry, Kid, but a fellow just came i n and bought the whole bolt. Bed and white it was, too."
"What kind of
"The Kid is handy at readin' sign, so maybe he will se e something that will tell him which one of us is the killer."
He moved closer, his eyes dancing with a taunting amusement. "How about it, Kid'?"
The Kid's eyes shifted from one to the other, the on e taunting and challenging, the other stubborn and angry.
"Why not'?" Bantam thrust a big hand into his pocke t and began putting the contents of his pockets on the table.
The man who called himself Texas did likewise.
"There it is, Kid. Look it over!"
Joe Chance leaned over the bar to watch, as did Sli m Reynolds and Art Vertrees, the only others present.
In the pile Texas made were a worn tobacco pouch, a jackknife, a plug of chewing tobacco, several coins, a smal l coil of rawhide string, and a small handful of gold coin s wrapped in paper. There were two rifle bullets.
In Bantam's pile there was a wad of paper money, som e sixty dollars worth, some small change, a Mexican silve r peso, a jackknife, a plug of chewing tobacco, a stub pipe, a tight ball of paper, a comb, and some matches.
Thoughtfully, the Cactus Kid looked over the two piles.
There was nothing that could be identified with any man.
It was merely such stuff' as could be found in the pocket s of any cowhand. Except -- he picked up the ball of tightl y rolled paper and slowly unrolled it.
It unfolded into a plain sheet of writing paper that ha d been folded just once. There were also marks that made i t appear the paper had been folded about something. Th e crinkling from being rolled up was obviously more recen t that the soiled line of the old crease.
It was not the fold the Kid was noticing, nor the fain t imprint of what might have been carried within that folde d sheet but rather the diagonal line of the sweat stain tha t ran across the papers.
That ain ' t mine!" Bantam protested. I had no suc h paper in my pocket!" He was suddenly frightened and hi s lips worked nervously. "I tell you -- I"
Texas had drawn back to one side, poised and ready.
The Cactus Kid drew the dead man's papers from hi s pocket and placed them beside the folded paper. Th e diagonal sweat stains matche d perfectly.
"So?" Texas said. "It was you, Bantam! You killed him!"
"You're a liar!" Bantam said angrily. "I done no -- !"
Texas' hand streaked for his gun, and Bantam grabbe d at his own gun. The two shots sounded almost as one, bu t it was Bantam who fell.
Texas holstered his gun. Had no idea he d draw on me , but a man's got to watch those kind."
Nobody replied, and he gathered his things from th e bar and went outside.
The Kid turned back to Joe Chance. "Better give m e another shot of rye; then I'm picking up my caliw an d headin' for home. This town's too sudden for me."
Two of the bystanders took t he big man's body out, an d later Sl i m Reynolds came in. "He must have cached tha t stolen money somewhere because he surely didn't have i t on him."
"Bantam's had it coming for a long time,"- Vertrees said , "and Texas was right. He never killed anybody in a fai r fight."
"What about that grulla mustang ot' his'?" Reynolds asked.
"That's a mighty fine horse."
The Kid put his g l ass down on the bar. "Did Banta m ride the grulla'? Are you sure? "
"Of course, Vertrees replied, surprised. I w as on th e street when he rode in. He was only a little ahead o f Texas, who was riding a bay."
The Cactus Kid turned and started for the door. He wa s in the saddle and started down the street when he though t of the calico.
Bonita wouldn't like this. He had promised her faithfully he'd return with that calico, and after all, huntin g killers was the sheriff's job. Angrily, he turned the pain t and trotted back to the store. "Got some red and whit e calicos" he asked.
"Sure haven't! I'm sorry, Kid, but a fellow just came i n and bought the whole bolt. Bed and white it was, too."
"What kind of
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