The head had fallen back, and was partly hidden in a gopher burrow, but the white, upturned face and closed eyes had less of helpless death in them than those wretched enwrappings.

Indeed, one limp hand that lay across the swollen abdomen lent itself to the grotesquely hideous suggestion of a gentleman sleeping off the excesses of a hearty dinner.
"Ain't he horrid ?" continued the girl; "but what killed him ?" Struggling between a certain fascination at the girl's cold-blooded curiosity and horror of the murdered man, Cass hesitatingly lifted the helpless head.

A bluish hole above the right temple, and a few brown paint-like spots on the forehead, shirt collar, and matted hair, proved the only record.
"Turn him over again," said the girl, impatiently, as Cass was about to relinquish his burden.

"Maybe you'll find another wound." But Cass was dimly remembering certain formalities that in older civilizations attend the discovery of dead bodies, and postponed a present inquest.
"Perhaps you'd better ride on, Miss, afore you get summoned as a witness.

I'll give warning at Red Chief's Crossing, and send the coroner down here." "Let me go with you," she said, earnestly; "it would be such fun.