If you wanna be sure, you give ’em . . .
The wind was still roaring. He was out in the open when he heard the gunshot from Old Town. He only heard it at all because it was the discharge of a shotgun.
He took off at a run.
Eph Johnson had heard the blast, too. He came out of the livery and ran after Bass.
Strangely, they were the first to find the body sprawled on the rutted street. No one from Old Town wanted to be first on the scene. They had heard the shot, of course. Once Joe Bass was present, the local residents began to emerge from their shacks.
The wind whipped at their clothes. There would be no tracks to follow, no witnesses on a night when no one had gone outside.
It was an ugly sight they saw — a tall man, apparently thrown on his back by the blast that killed him.
“Judas Priest,” croaked Eph Johnson, “will yuh look at that face?”
“That’s the trouble,” Bass said grimly. “There ain’t none.”