There was silence while a slow counter could get to maybe six. Hud could hear the rippling water and, somewhere along it, a frog going a-hoong. Finally:
“Explain that!” Croslin yelled out.
Hud shifted to face him.
“Squire Duckett can’t do anybody harm, Captain,” said Hud, “and your pistol points down while mine points up. I can get into action before you do, and this close in even the third best shot in Portici could drill you right where you’re wondering how I found out so much.”
“What in the name of—” Dr. Shumake began to verbalize interferingly.
“Just hold your tater, everybody, till I say the rest of my say.” And Hud laughed again. He hadn’t felt so good about things since he’d set his big foot in Moshawnee.
“I started in to patch-quilt things together when Captain Croslin walked in with Squire Huckleroy’s challenge,” he said, “and Squire Duckett spoke up so quick to be my second. You two rigged this duel business up in short minutes, for fear I’d learn and tell who was the real robbing murderer.
“Captain, you pollyfoxed Squire Huckleroy into challenging me by that talk to him about how he’d be a coward not to face my pistol. As for Dr. Shumake, I don’t have any evidence that he’s one of this committee of killers.”
“Young sir,” squeaked up Dr. Shumake, “I never killed anybody in my life except by wrong medical guessing. Go on with your talk, up to now it’s the interestingest I’ve ever heard, not excepting your speech to the jury.”
“As for Squire Huckleroy—” went on Hud.
“Prove your charge, sir!” barked Squire Huckleroy, his pistol poised another sight more tightly than Hud’s.
“Legal proof starts with motives,” said Hud. “George Tebow’s cane and handkerchief were left to charge murder and robbery to him. But how might someone have fixed that silly business? All right, Squire Duckett, you can throw away that pistol with nary a bullet in it. You were the one that fixed it.”
“You insolent country fool,” Duckett blathered at him.
“Maybe I’m insolent,” said Hud, “maybe I’m country. But let’s find out who’s the fool here. Squire Huckleroy kept you out of the State Senate, and you feared that he’d back George Tebow to keep on keeping you out. I reckon Milas Clavering told you about the secret money and talked about disgracing George, because Milas Clavering wanted to win Miss Allie Sue.
“And if Miss Allie Sue sent six handkerchiefs to George by Captain Croslin, then Captain Croslin was in the thing too, keeping one of the six out, and likewise Captain Croslin better not raise that gun or he’ll get a bullet in him.”
“Bide still,” Squire Huckleroy told Croslin, “and let’s hear this thing out.”
“Aye,” said Croslin. “Let’s hear it out. He’s talking because he’s afraid to face you, Squire Huckleroy. He dares insult poor Milas Clavering, who—”
“Poor Milas is dead where he belongs,” Hud broke him off, “seeing he helped you fix the business. You and Duckett, Captain Croslin. That six hundred dollars would go into your pocket, so you could pay the drink bill at the tavern and my supper and still have a coin to flip here, when up to then your pocket was empty.”
Hud lifted his segar to his mouth, but it had gone out. He wagged his head, the way he wagged it in a law case.
“While George Tebow was celebrating his law certificate, you three went to Squire Huckleroy’s office. Milas Clavering let you all in and showed you where the money was. But about that time, it was Captain Croslin who had the thought that if Milas was out of the way, too, Allie Sue would be maybe in the state of mind to marry a poor but clever kissing cousin with pretty varnished boots.”
“No, you idiot!” yelled out Croslin. “It was Duckett struck Milas down!”
“You lie!” bellowed Duckett, and Croslin brought up his pistol.
Quick as quick, Squire Huckleroy fired his own pistol, and at the same moment Duckett’s gun went off.
Croslin spun clear around on those boots Hud had praised and slammed down on his face:
“See to the Captain, Dr. Shumake,” called out Hud, “on account he mustn’t die with a lie on his tongue.”
Then Hud ran to Duckett, but Squire Huckleroy was there first, snatching the smoky pistol from Duckett’s hand.
“I meant only to shoot the gun from his hand,” Squire Huckleroy was asking pardon.
“And that’s what you did, sir,” said Hud. “It was Duckett’s bullet hit the Captain.”
He ran back and stooped for Croslin’s gun. It was dented in the barrel with Squire Huckleroy’s ball, but it was still cocked.
“I reckon,” said Hud, “this is the only sidearm we’ve got left With a killing charge in it, and I hope it doesn’t have to go off.”
“This man’s shoulder is broken,” Dr. Shumake reported as he bent over Croslin.
Duckett gobbled and goggled. “My weapon went off of itself,” he said. “But if there was no bullet in it—”
“Oh,” said Hud, cheerful as a squirrel, “I just said you’d handed me the wrong pistol to pester you. I didn’t want you popping at me and spoiling my speech in the loudest part.”
Into the clearing came charging George Tebow, and beside him Solicitor Rakeshaw, and behind them the sheriff of Moshawnee.
“I showed your note to the solicitor,” panted Tebow to Hud. “Then we followed that string of handkerchiefs you left us.”
“You didn’t know yet who was guilty,” added Rakeshaw.
“I had a good notion,” said Hud, “but I didn’t put it in writing, I reckoned you’d be curious enough to hurry. Sorry you didn’t get here in time to hear my arguments.”
“It’s Duckett who’s guilty,” gritted out Croslin, sitting up and pressing a hand to his bleeding shoulder.
“You triple liar!” Duckett found voice to say back. “You killed Milas Clavering!”
“Squire Mottram,” said Solicitor Rakeshaw, “I want to engage you as special prosecutor, to show in court which of these men is the murderer.”
“Well, I’d be happy to help,” said Hud. “Whichever did it, the other’s an accessory.”
Squire Huckleroy had grabbed George Tebow’s hand in both of his, like a father welcoming a son. “George,” he said, “I hope you and Allie Sue have a boy like you, not foolish in the head and stubborn in the heart like me.”
The sheriff was helping Dr. Shumake raise Croslin to his feet. Duckett made a move as if he’d like to go off somewhere alone, but Hud stepped a big foot on Duckett’s toe and showed him the pistol that had been knocked from Croslin’s hand.
“Stay with us,” said Hud. “Ever see a jail yawn, Squire? Well, there’s one in Moshawnee yawning for you and Captain Croslin, right this minute.”
“Gentlemen,” muttered Rakeshaw, “this is legal brilliance.”
“It’s luck,” snarled out Duckett. “That’s all. Luck told Hud Mottram. It’s plain for anybody to see.”
“Well now, Squire, I think you’ve got it about right,” Hud agreed him, and struck a match to light his gone-out segar. “I always was a pure down fool for luck.”