“No; if I’d been just about fifteen minutes sooner I’d have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny.  I guess he’s a whole lot better off, though.”

“What would you have done if you’d seen him?” Custer’s voice sank to a whisper.

“Well, I don’t pack a gun for nothing.  If I’d seen him there, he’d had to go ’round to the jail with me.  I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!”

“And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?” asked Custer.

“I guess they do; I ain’t afraid about that.  Colonel Harbison’s too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain’t his; he’d be the first one to own up that he don’t deserve no credit.”

“What took you into McBride’s store?  You hadn’t no errand there.”  Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife.

“I allow I made an errand there,” said Mr. Shrimplin bridling.  “I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn’t no errand there either, but I feel different about them things.  I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North—­”

“What was he doing there?” suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin.

“I expect he was attending strictly to his own business,” retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question.

“Go on, pal” begged Custer.

He felt that his mother’s interruptions were positively cruel, and—­so like a woman!

“Me and young John North passed the time of day,” continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, “and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride’s own corner.  If I’d knowed then—­” he paused impressively, “if I’d just knowed then, that was my time!  I could have laid hands on the murderer.  He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don’t know as a married man’s got any right to take chances.  Anyway, I got to within, well—­I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up.  You never saw a horse act up like he done!  He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!”

“Why did he do that?” asked Custer.

“Well, I guess you’ve got some few things to learn, Custer;” said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently.  “He smelt blood—­that’s what he smelt!”

“Oh!” gasped Custer.

“I’ve knowed it to happen before.  It’s instinct,” explained Shrimplin.  “‘Singular,’ says I, and out I jumps to have a look about.  I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn’t seen before, that old man McBride’s store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time.  That’s mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry.”