Half an hour after Swan arrived, the coroner came in a machine, and with
him came the sheriff. The coroner, an important little man, examined the
body, the horse and the saddle, and there was the usual formula of
swearing in a jury. The inquest was rather short, since there was only
one witness to testify, and Lone merely told how he had discovered the
horse there by the creek, and that the body had not been moved from
where he found it.
Swan went over to where Lone, anxious to get away from the place, was
untying his horse after the jury had officially named the death an
accident.
"I guess those horses could be turned loose," he began without prelude.
"What you think, Lone? I been to Thurman's ranch, and I don't find
anybody. Some horses in a corral, and pigs in a pen, and chickens. I
guess Thurman was living alone. Should I tell the coroner that?"
"I dunno," Lone replied shortly. "You might speak to the sheriff. I
reckon he's the man to take charge of things."
"It's bad business, getting killed," Swan said vaguely. "It makes me
feel damn sorry when I go to that ranch. There's the horses waiting for
breakfast--and Thurman, he's dead over here and can't feed his pigs and
his chickens.
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