CHAPTER XVII

A KNIFE WITH FOURTEEN NOTCHES Hugh was feeding his horse next morning when a voice moved wheezily toward him as its owner passed through the stable into the corral. “Old Grimes is dead, that good old man, We ne’er shall see him more,” Budd informed the world at large by way of announcing his arrival. “When’s the funeral, Jim?” asked McClintock. “I’ll be there if it’s soon. Like to be right sure he’s buried. Don’t mind pilin’ a big flat rock on top o’ that single-breasted coat my own se’f…