“Ochakee’s the county seat—we can reach the sheriff himself.” “Good. Tell him to take steps to guard all roads for suspicious characters. Get out posses, if they would help. Get the coroner and all the official help we can get out here.” He turned to me, with a whip-like, emphatic movement. “Killdare, you might help us here. You likely know the roads. Tell us what to do.” “You’ve said what to do,” I told him. “There’s not enough white men in this part of [Pg 66]the country to make a posse—and a posse couldn’t find any one that wanted to hide in the cypress swamps. The thing to do—is to cut off the murderer’s escape and starve him out. Nealman, isn’t yours the only road——” [Pg 66] road——” “As far as I know——” “The marshes are almost impassible to the left, and on the other side is the river. If we can keep him from getting as far as Nixon’s——” Nixon’s——” “Who’s Nixon——” “Next planter up the road, five miles up. Get a phone to him right away. Young Nixon will watch all night and stop any one who tries to pass. The sheriff can put a man there to-morrow. Let’s find a phone.” Hal Fargo, seemingly as cold as a blade, started to bend over the body for further examination of the wound, but two of the men caught his arm. “Don’t touch him, Hal,” Major Dell advised, quietly. “The less we track up the spot and muss things up the better. The detective’ll have a better chance for thumb prints, and things like that.” “You’re right, Dell,” the man agreed. “And now let’s get to a phone.” “Good.” It was Joe Nopp’s cool, self-reliant [Pg 67]voice again. “In the meantime, have any of you got a gun?” [Pg 67] Lemuel Marten alone responded—he carried a little automatic pistol in the pocket of his dinner coat. “Here,” he said. He drew the thing out, and it made blue fire in the moonlight in his hand.
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