His brother's keeper
But Delong got throwed against a hitchrack post that mornin’, and it
hurt him so bad he died that same afternoon. But before he died he
confessed to murderin’ old Mitchell himself. He just thought he’d put
the deadwood on you, ’cause you quarreled with Mitchell before yuh
quit.”
* * * * *
Red Cowan laughed shortly. “So that was it, eh? Deming didn’t mention it
to me. Mebbe he was too sick.”
“Prob’ly. Too bad he didn’t live longer, Red. Delong confessed that
Mitchell hired him to plant evidence that sent Harry Deming to the pen.
We’ll have Harry out in a few days.”
“Well, I’ll be danged!”
“Queer, ain’t it?” mused Joe, looking down at the body of the sheriff.
“His wife said that some day his star would rise up and kill him. She
said he was makin’ a god out of his star. I dunno, Red. Things have a
queer way of workin’ out. If he hadn’t been so strong on duty he’d never
have taken that sick hobo off that train. Deming always had the idea of
bein’ his brother’s keeper, yuh know.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. Duty they called him, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. Awful set in his ways. I suppose we might as well start back with
him.”
“Sure; might as well. Sorry I didn’t rope him down. But he seemed to be
all right when I left. Fever made his heart weak, I suppose. But he
never told me he was after me, Joe.”
“He wouldn’t. I can figure out where he got the measles and I can figure
out why he didn’t tell yuh what he was doin’ in the lava beds, but I’ll
be damned if I can figure out why he killed the red bull calf and said
it was you.”
“I didn’t know about that, Joe. He must have been crazy.”
“Mm-m-m-m,” said Joe slowly. “I s’pose he was. Red, do yuh believe in
them Ten Commandments?”
“Never read any of ’em. What are they about?”
“Everythin’.”
“Must be good, eh?”
“Worth readin’. Git a rope and we’ll take him home.”
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 25, 1928 issue
of _Short Stories Magazine_.]