"I mean who found out that the sheriff done it?"
"He told it himself," said Bull.
"Drunk, en?"
"Nope. Not drunk. He was asked if he didn't do the murder."
"Great guns! Who asked him?"
"I done it," said Bull as simply as ever.
Reeve bit his lip. He had just put Bull down as a simple-minded hulk.
He was forced to revise his opinion.
"You done that? You follered him up, eh?"
"I just done a little thinking. So I asked him."
Reeve shook his head. "Maybe you hypnotized him," he suggested.
"Nope. I just asked him. I got a lot of folks sitting around, and then
I began telling the sheriff how he done the shooting."
"And he admitted it?"
"Nope. He jumped for a gun."
"And then you heaved a chair at him." Pete Reeve drew in a long
breath. "But what reason did you have, son? I got to ask you that
before I thank you the way I want to thank you. But, before you kick
out, you'll find that Pete Reeve is a friend."
"My reason was," said Bull, "that I had business to do with you that
couldn't be done in a jail.
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