He had read everything he could get his hands on--and though Pete did not say that Saunders chose to die when the stock of paper novels was exhausted, he left that impression upon his auditors.
The sheriff and the coroner came at nine.

All the Hart boys, including Donny, were there before noon, and the group of Indians remained all day wherever the store cast its shadow.

Squaws and bucks passed and repassed upon the footpath between Hartley and their camp, chattering together of the big event until they came under the eye of strange white men, whereupon they were stricken deaf and dumb, as is the way of our nation's wards.
When the sheriff inspected the stable and its vicinity, looking for clews, not a blanket was in sight, though a dozen eyes watched every movement suspiciously.

When at the inquest that afternoon, he laid upon the table a battered old revolver of cheap workmanship and long past its prime, and testified that he had found it ten feet from the stable-door, in a due line southeast from the hay-corral, and that one shot had been fired from it, there were Indians in plenty to glance furtively at the weapon and give no sign.
The coroner showed the bullet which he had extracted from the body of Saunders, and fitted it into the empty cartridge which had been under the hammer in the revolver, and thereby proved to the satisfaction of everyone that the gun was intimately connected with the death of the man.

So the jury arrived speedily, and without further fussing over evidence, at the verdict of suicide.
Good Indian drew a long breath, put on his hat, and went over to tell Miss Georgie.