The Desert Moon Mystery by Kay Cleaver Strahan

It seemed to me that, when Sam's pipe hit the floor, it made a noise like doom cracking. We all sat still as stones. I suppose it could not have been more than a minute, but it seemed a long time before John left Danny's side and went and picked up the pipe and handed it to Sam.

"It's all right, dad," he said.

"Not by a damn sight, it's not all right," Sam came back to his senses vigorously. "But it is interesting-this thing. It is getting interesting, anyway. Let me see -- If I had got Chad to help me-and I could have, by telling him it was some joke or other I had on hand-I could have sneaked out of the barn, met her and killed her, during that hour. When could I have got the body upstairs, though? That's the first missing link. My reason for killing her would be another, but -- "

"Say! See here, dad," John cut in.

"You shut up, son. We are waiting to hear the rest of what Danny has to say. Come, Danny, can you supply either of those missing links?"

"No," she said, and sighed. It was easy to see that she was plumb tuckered out. "No, of course I can't."

"If," Sam went on, seemingly talking entirely to himself, "if I'd hurried like blazes, I might have done the deed, and carried her into the house during the time I was absent from the barn. I'd have had to pass Mary in the kitchen-I'd have been bound to sneak in the back way-but, if I asked her not to, more than likely Mary wouldn't tell on me. Or, I might have had a hireling (that's what they call them, isn't it? There's another word, something like-marmot-no, never mind.) on the outside, who would have toted the body in for me, while we were at supper."

Written out, that sounds as if Sam had been trying to be comical. He was not at all. He was sitting there, speaking his thoughts for all to hear, making out a case against himself, cool as Christmas. For my part, I had heard enough of it.

"Sam, you look here -- " I began.

"You shut up, too, Mary," Sam said.

Mrs. Ricker spoke. She had her say out. Nobody, not even Sam, would any more think of telling Mrs. Ricker to shut up, than they would think of telling any other dumb object, that suddenly started to talk, to shut up. Leading a life of silence, I thought, certainly did have its advantages, at times.

"I think," Mrs. Ricker said, "that the girl herself probably killed her sister. If Sam's pipe ashes were on the bag, she put them there, afterwards, to make trouble for him."

Sam said, "Shucks!"

I thought John would be the first to speak. I was mistaken.

It was Danny herself who said, "Make her talk, now, Uncle Sam. Don't wait for her turn. I-can't bear it. Make her talk now, and give her reasons for saying such a cruel, wicked, lying thing."

"Mrs. Ricker," Sam put the question very solemnly, "have you any reasons for making this accusation?"

"My only reason is, that I believe it."

"Don't beat around the bush. Why do you believe it?"

"I have a feeling that she is guilty."

"This," Sam said, sternly, "is no time for feeling, nor for quibbling. You made a serious accusation-straight out. I want your reason, or reasons, for making it, and I want them just as straight."