Hashknife and Sleepy came from the restaurant near the Black Horse Saloon and saw Franklyn Moran and English Ed, sitting together in a buggy, the team of which was tied to the Black Horse hitch-rack.Moran called to Hashknife, who went over to them. Sleepy sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and rolled a smoke.“You’ve met Holmes, haven’t you, Hartley?” asked Moran.Hashknife nodded quickly. Holmes laughed shortly.“Yes, we’ve met before, Moran. Hartley recognized me. He’s got a good memory, it seems.”Hashknife studied the gambler. It seemed rather odd that the man was admitting all this, and Hashknife wondered what his reason might be.“I’m putting my cards on the table, Hartley,” said Holmes. “I knew you. At first you had me puzzled, but I remembered.”“And then what?” asked Hashknife coldly.“I’ve been telling Moran about you, Hartley. I’ve got nothing to conceal. I’m just as anxious to have things cleared up as he is. You heard about the warnings sent to Jim Randall and Judge Beal? Well, I didn’t send ’em.”“No?” Hashknife smiled curiously. “Why tell me, Holmes?”“Because I know you are not here for your health.”“That’s true; my health never worries me.”English Ed shook his head.“Still suspicious, eh? Don’t blame you. Do you believe Jimmy Moran shot Moses Conley?”“Don’t you?”“I’d like your opinion.”“Haven’t any. None of my business, Holmes. Must have been enough evidence to satisfy the sheriff.”“It’s not hard to satisfy a sheriff,” said Moran slowly. “Holmes tells me that you have cleared up a lot of hard cases, Hartley. I didn’t know I was hiring a horse from a detective when I met you at Sibley Junction. I hired your horse and now I’d like to hire you. How about it?”“I’m more or less of a cowpuncher,” said Hashknife. “I’m not a detective, Moran. Never pretended to be one.”“Will you take this case?”“What case?”“Jimmy’s case.”“Oh, yeah, Jimmy’s case. You mean—to try and prove he didn’t shoot Conley?”“If it’s possible—yes, I’ll pay well.” Hashknife shook his head quickly.“You’ve got the wrong dope on me, Moran. My skin is worth quite a lot to me. Even if I was able to solve a mystery, I’d have no chance here. Somebody would fill me full of lead before I got started.”English Ed laughed shortly.“Which proves that you don’t think Jimmy is guilty. If he was, why would you be afraid of getting shot?”Hashknife shrugged his shoulders.“I don’t think Jimmy killed those Big 4 steers at Hot Creek, do you?”“I don’t know anything about it,” said Holmes flatly.“Somebody does,” smiled Hashknife. “Nope, I don’t want any finger in this pie; I might get it hurt.”He nodded and turned back to Sleepy, who joined him. They saw Wind River Jim, Lovely Lucas and Horse-Collar Fields coming from the Ranger Saloon, and the sidewalk was not wide enough for them to walk in single file.“What did they want?” asked Sleepy.“Wanted me to clear Jimmy Moran. English Ed had filled Moran up with a lot of stuff. I wouldn’t trust Holmes as far as I could throw a prize bull by the tail.”“You didn’t take the case, did you, Hashknife?”“Not so much you’d notice it.”“Boy, howdy! Now we can high-tail out of here, eh?”“Mm-m-m-m. Let’s go down and see how Roarin’ is gettin’ along.”They found Roaring Rigby sitting on the edge of the cot that he had moved into the office. His eyes were blurred with sleep, but he grinned a welcome.“Took a little shut-eye,” he said. “Fixed me up pretty good, too. Ho-o-o-o-hum-m-m-m-m! Gosh, I shore was sleepy! What’s new in the world?”“Nothin’ much,” replied Hashknife. “Roarin’, what kind of a gun did Jimmy Moran use?”Roaring yawned heavily.“Colt. I’ve got it here.”He went to his desk, sat down heavily and opened one of the drawers. There were three guns in the drawer, and he placed them side by side on the desk top.“This is Jimmy’s,” he said. “The middle one belongs to Moses Conley and the other is the one Pete killed Mallette with.”Hashknife examined Jimmy’s gun. The hammer was still down on the exploded shell. It was a .45 caliber. He picked up Pete’s gun, a .45, single-action Colt. It was fully loaded and fairly clean.“He had plenty of time to reload and clean it,” said the sheriff.Hashknife nodded and put the gun back on the desk.“There wasn’t any bullet in Mallette, eh?”“Nope; went plumb through.”Hashknife picked up Moses Conley’s gun. It was of the same model as Pete’s. There was an empty shell in one of the chambers. Hashknife slid it out and looked it over. Some one was coming down the sidewalk toward the office. Hashknife replaced the shell. He was half sitting on a corner of the desk.Roaring Rigby was rolling a cigaret and Sleepy was busily examining a reward notice. Some one stopped at the open door, but Hashknife didn’t look up. His long fingers gripped the heavy revolver, a thumb drew back the hammer almost to full cock and let it slip.Wham!The big gun roared like a cannon in that small room. Hashknife had the muzzle pointed at the floor and, as the gun jerked in his hands, he glanced toward the door in time to see Wind River Jim, Lovely Lucas and Horse-Collar Fields.Wham!Horse-Collar Fields had yanked out his gun and fired so quickly that the report of his gun was a thudding echo of Hashknife’s shot.Wham!Lovely Lucas’ gun went off before it was out of the holster.“You-u-u-u-u-u-u damn fools!” howled Roaring. He went over backward, clawing at his face.Hashknife sprang sidewise, collided with Sleepy, and they went sprawling together, while the three drunken cow-punchers backed out, fell off the sidewalk and proceeded to empty their guns at anything and everything in sight. Hashknife and Sleepy sat up, staring at each other; while Roaring crawled to his feet and peeked over the top of his upset chair.“My Lord!” exploded Sleepy.“Where’d the nigger come from?”Roaring’s face, except for the tip-end of his nose, was as black as ebony. He spat disgustedly and wiped the back of a hand across his lips.“Ink!” he snorted. “Damn fool busted the ink-bottle and I got it all in the face. What in the devil is goin’ on around here, anyway?”Wham!A bullet came through the window and splatted against the end of the room.“Shoot at me, will you?” It was Horse-Collar’s voice, filled with righteous indignation. “Show yourself, you murderer! Give ’em hell if they rush you, Wind River!”Roaring wiped some more ink off his face and got to his feet.“Don’t go near the door,” advised Hashknife.“I’m not goin’ to. What started this here war?”Hashknife grinned sheepishly.“Mebby I’m to blame. I accidentally fired this gun, and them three men must have thought I was shootin’ at them.”“Hunh!” grunted Roaring disgustedly.“One was Lovely Lucas,” grinned Sleepy. “He said he was goin’ to get help and come back, didn’t he? Wasn’t he goin’ to get a jigger named Horse-Collar?”“That’s right! Why, the dirty bum! And they’ve got my deputy along with ’em. See if you can find out where they are, Sleepy.”“Is that so!” snorted Sleepy. “Take a look and grab a harp. Not me, brother.”“Hunh! Well, they won’t shoot at me, I’ll betcha.”Roaring strode over to the doorway, ducked convulsively when a bullet thudded into the wall behind him, and whirled in against the wall.“I lose,” he said quickly.The shooting had caused considerable excitement in the main street, but none of the three men went to the door until Hank Pitts, of the Big 4, came down to the doorway as a committee of one to find out what caused it.“They’re over in the Ranger Saloon,” he told Roaring. “Anybody—my Lord, you shore got painted! Ink?”“Ink! Nobody got hurt. Hartley accidentally fired Moses Conley’s gun, and them drunken fools thought we were shootin’ at them. Got a darn good notion to jail all three of ’em.”“I wouldn’t; they’re drunk,” laughed Hashknife. “Nobody hurt.”“I suppose that’s right. The darn fools might have killed somebody. Hank, if you see Wind River, will you tell him to sober up and get back on the job?”Hank promised and went back to the Black Horse. Hashknife examined the shell he had fired, and a faint smile twisted his wide lips. He handed the gun back to Roaring, who was scrubbing his face with a handkerchief, trying to remove the ink, which had already dried in.“Put that gun in a safe place, will you?” asked Hashknife.“You’re right I will!” spluttered Roaring. “How’d you ever come to fire it thataway?”“Slipped,” grinned Hashknife. “Mind if I talk with Jimmy Moran?”“I reckon not. I’ll bet they’re wonderin’ what all the shootin’ was about.”They opened the jail door and went in. Pete was frightened. He thought there had been an attempt to take him from the jail. Jimmy laughed joyfully at Roaring’s description of how Lovely and Horse-Collar and Wind River had got drunk and had come down to get him out of jail.“They’re a wild bunch,” laughed Jimmy. “All heart and no brains.”“I want you to tell me about Conley’s shootin’,” said Hashknife. “I’ve got Miss Conley’s story.”“What’s the idea?” asked Jimmy cautiously.“Just curious, Jimmy. Tell me about it.”And Jimmy told him everything as he had seen it.“You shot at a man, eh?” queried Hashknife.“There was somebody behind that bush,” declared Jimmy. “I was kinda excited, you see. No, I didn’t see where the shot came from; I was too far around the corner. But I didn’t see anybody after I shot.”Hashknife continued to question—“Was there more than two shots fired?”“That’s all, and I fired one of ’em.”“You went out there to warn Conley that the Big 4 outfit were comin’ out, didn’t you?”Jimmy nodded quickly.“What else could I do?”“Did you skin out them brands, Jimmy?”Jimmy shifted his eyes and a ghost of a smile passed his lips.“You’re just guessin’, Hartley,” he said.Hashknife smiled.“Good guesser?” he asked.“Mebby you think you are.”“By golly, I never thought of that!” exploded Roaring.“I’m just tryin’ to help you, Jimmy,” reminded Hashknife.“I need little help,” said Pete.Hashknife turned his head and looked at the half-breed. Pete was leaning against the bars, a wistful expression in his dark eyes.“I reckon you do,” agreed Hashknife.“Pete ain’t even got a lawyer,” said Roaring.“Don’t need none,” said Pete quickly. “Damn lawyer don’t know who kill Joe Mallette.”Hashknife laughed softly.“That’s very true, Pete.”They left the jail and, while Roaring went on a hunt for Wind River Jim and his two wild-shooting companions, Hashknife and Sleepy got their horses and rode out of town, heading toward Hot Creek.Quite a crowd collected in the Ranger Saloon, trying to get a firsthand account of the gun battle, and they got it in three distinct versions.“They repulsed us,” said Horse-Collar dismally. “Oh, the loss was terrific. There was bodies stewed—strewed all over the street. In one plash—jus’ in one plash, mind you—I shaw twelve dead men in one pile. An’ if that ain’t the truth, you can cut off Lovely’s ears.”“Whozears?” demanded Lovely. “Horsh-Collar’s a liar. That long-geared Hartley shot d’liber’tly at my heart; that’s what happened. Jus’ lifted his six-shooter and shez t’ me, ‘I’ve gotcha faded, Misser Lucas.’ Jus’ like that. And then he pulled the trigger. It was the mean-esht thing I ever beheld. That feller’s a murderer—jus’ a common murderer.”“A-a-a-a-aw, hell!” snorted Wind River. “You and Horsh-Collar are drunk. Here’s what act’ally happened, gents. Me and Lovely and Horsh-Collar went down to pay our reshpects to Roarin’ Rigby. We was jus’ as innochent as a unborn sheep—three of ’em. Hartley and Stevens was there with Roarin’, you shee. Well, they mus’ ’a’ thought we was makin’ an attack, because they armed themshelves with Winchester rifles, you shee. And when we came in, p’lite as hell, and shed good-afternoon, they opened fire on us, jus’ like that.Bing! Bang! Boom! Bim!”Wind River struck the bar three times, emphasizing his vocal imitation of a shot, but the fourth time he missed the bar and hit his chin on the edge of it.“They must be drunk,” declared the bartender, grinning.“I’ll shay they are,” agreed Horse-Collar.“Didja kill any of ’em?” asked Hank Pitts.“All five,” said Horse-Collar solemnly. “Let’s all have a drink. My conscience bothers me. It’s the firsh time I ever missed a shot. Gittin’ old. Any old time I have to take three shots to kill two men, I’m all wrong. Whatcha drinkin’?”It was about ten minutes later when Roaring Rigby came into the Ranger Saloon. He leaned against the bar and looked sadly at Wind River Jim, who goggled at him owlishly.“H’lo corpsh,” said Wind River.“Go stick your head in a horse-trough,” advised Roaring. “Drown some of the liquor out of you and then go back to the office where you belong. You’re a hell of a deputy!”“Deputy?” Wind River’s eyes opened widely. He turned and hit Horse-Collar a resounding whack between the shoulders, the force of the blow knocking Horse-Collar against the bar, from which he rebounded and sat down on the floor.“You quit knockin’ Horsh-Collar ’round,” ordered Lovely. “Who do you think you are, anyway. Git up and pile him, Horsh-Collar. Don’t let’m knock you ’round, the big bully.”“Who in the devil got hit?” wailed Horse-Collar in a thin voice. “Lemme alone, will you, Lovely? Keep your nose out of my business, will yu-u-u-uh? ’F I want to pile Wind River, I don’t need no advice from you. Gittin’ so a man can’t even git knocked down, without somebody advisin’ him.”“Give ’m hell!” grunted Wind River. “’S’ all right, Roarin’. I’m shober.”Wind River cuffed his wide hat almost over his eyes, got his bearings and headed out through the doorway.“Have a li’l drink, Roarin’?” asked Lovely.“You boys better go home, Lovely.”“Tha’ so? Huh! Whaffor? Nothin’ to do. We ain’t goin’ home until—whatcha shay, Horsh-Collar?”“Drunken idiots,” said Roaring, and he went out.
Hashknife and Sleepy came from the restaurant near the Black Horse Saloon and saw Franklyn Moran and English Ed, sitting together in a buggy, the team of which was tied to the Black Horse hitch-rack.
Moran called to Hashknife, who went over to them. Sleepy sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and rolled a smoke.
“You’ve met Holmes, haven’t you, Hartley?” asked Moran.
Hashknife nodded quickly. Holmes laughed shortly.
“Yes, we’ve met before, Moran. Hartley recognized me. He’s got a good memory, it seems.”
Hashknife studied the gambler. It seemed rather odd that the man was admitting all this, and Hashknife wondered what his reason might be.
“I’m putting my cards on the table, Hartley,” said Holmes. “I knew you. At first you had me puzzled, but I remembered.”
“And then what?” asked Hashknife coldly.
“I’ve been telling Moran about you, Hartley. I’ve got nothing to conceal. I’m just as anxious to have things cleared up as he is. You heard about the warnings sent to Jim Randall and Judge Beal? Well, I didn’t send ’em.”
“No?” Hashknife smiled curiously. “Why tell me, Holmes?”
“Because I know you are not here for your health.”
“That’s true; my health never worries me.”
English Ed shook his head.
“Still suspicious, eh? Don’t blame you. Do you believe Jimmy Moran shot Moses Conley?”
“Don’t you?”
“I’d like your opinion.”
“Haven’t any. None of my business, Holmes. Must have been enough evidence to satisfy the sheriff.”
“It’s not hard to satisfy a sheriff,” said Moran slowly. “Holmes tells me that you have cleared up a lot of hard cases, Hartley. I didn’t know I was hiring a horse from a detective when I met you at Sibley Junction. I hired your horse and now I’d like to hire you. How about it?”
“I’m more or less of a cowpuncher,” said Hashknife. “I’m not a detective, Moran. Never pretended to be one.”
“Will you take this case?”
“What case?”
“Jimmy’s case.”
“Oh, yeah, Jimmy’s case. You mean—to try and prove he didn’t shoot Conley?”
“If it’s possible—yes, I’ll pay well.” Hashknife shook his head quickly.
“You’ve got the wrong dope on me, Moran. My skin is worth quite a lot to me. Even if I was able to solve a mystery, I’d have no chance here. Somebody would fill me full of lead before I got started.”
English Ed laughed shortly.
“Which proves that you don’t think Jimmy is guilty. If he was, why would you be afraid of getting shot?”
Hashknife shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t think Jimmy killed those Big 4 steers at Hot Creek, do you?”
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Holmes flatly.
“Somebody does,” smiled Hashknife. “Nope, I don’t want any finger in this pie; I might get it hurt.”
He nodded and turned back to Sleepy, who joined him. They saw Wind River Jim, Lovely Lucas and Horse-Collar Fields coming from the Ranger Saloon, and the sidewalk was not wide enough for them to walk in single file.
“What did they want?” asked Sleepy.
“Wanted me to clear Jimmy Moran. English Ed had filled Moran up with a lot of stuff. I wouldn’t trust Holmes as far as I could throw a prize bull by the tail.”
“You didn’t take the case, did you, Hashknife?”
“Not so much you’d notice it.”
“Boy, howdy! Now we can high-tail out of here, eh?”
“Mm-m-m-m. Let’s go down and see how Roarin’ is gettin’ along.”
They found Roaring Rigby sitting on the edge of the cot that he had moved into the office. His eyes were blurred with sleep, but he grinned a welcome.
“Took a little shut-eye,” he said. “Fixed me up pretty good, too. Ho-o-o-o-hum-m-m-m-m! Gosh, I shore was sleepy! What’s new in the world?”
“Nothin’ much,” replied Hashknife. “Roarin’, what kind of a gun did Jimmy Moran use?”
Roaring yawned heavily.
“Colt. I’ve got it here.”
He went to his desk, sat down heavily and opened one of the drawers. There were three guns in the drawer, and he placed them side by side on the desk top.
“This is Jimmy’s,” he said. “The middle one belongs to Moses Conley and the other is the one Pete killed Mallette with.”
Hashknife examined Jimmy’s gun. The hammer was still down on the exploded shell. It was a .45 caliber. He picked up Pete’s gun, a .45, single-action Colt. It was fully loaded and fairly clean.
“He had plenty of time to reload and clean it,” said the sheriff.
Hashknife nodded and put the gun back on the desk.
“There wasn’t any bullet in Mallette, eh?”
“Nope; went plumb through.”
Hashknife picked up Moses Conley’s gun. It was of the same model as Pete’s. There was an empty shell in one of the chambers. Hashknife slid it out and looked it over. Some one was coming down the sidewalk toward the office. Hashknife replaced the shell. He was half sitting on a corner of the desk.
Roaring Rigby was rolling a cigaret and Sleepy was busily examining a reward notice. Some one stopped at the open door, but Hashknife didn’t look up. His long fingers gripped the heavy revolver, a thumb drew back the hammer almost to full cock and let it slip.
Wham!
The big gun roared like a cannon in that small room. Hashknife had the muzzle pointed at the floor and, as the gun jerked in his hands, he glanced toward the door in time to see Wind River Jim, Lovely Lucas and Horse-Collar Fields.
Wham!
Horse-Collar Fields had yanked out his gun and fired so quickly that the report of his gun was a thudding echo of Hashknife’s shot.
Wham!
Lovely Lucas’ gun went off before it was out of the holster.
“You-u-u-u-u-u-u damn fools!” howled Roaring. He went over backward, clawing at his face.
Hashknife sprang sidewise, collided with Sleepy, and they went sprawling together, while the three drunken cow-punchers backed out, fell off the sidewalk and proceeded to empty their guns at anything and everything in sight. Hashknife and Sleepy sat up, staring at each other; while Roaring crawled to his feet and peeked over the top of his upset chair.
“My Lord!” exploded Sleepy.
“Where’d the nigger come from?”
Roaring’s face, except for the tip-end of his nose, was as black as ebony. He spat disgustedly and wiped the back of a hand across his lips.
“Ink!” he snorted. “Damn fool busted the ink-bottle and I got it all in the face. What in the devil is goin’ on around here, anyway?”
Wham!
A bullet came through the window and splatted against the end of the room.
“Shoot at me, will you?” It was Horse-Collar’s voice, filled with righteous indignation. “Show yourself, you murderer! Give ’em hell if they rush you, Wind River!”
Roaring wiped some more ink off his face and got to his feet.
“Don’t go near the door,” advised Hashknife.
“I’m not goin’ to. What started this here war?”
Hashknife grinned sheepishly.
“Mebby I’m to blame. I accidentally fired this gun, and them three men must have thought I was shootin’ at them.”
“Hunh!” grunted Roaring disgustedly.
“One was Lovely Lucas,” grinned Sleepy. “He said he was goin’ to get help and come back, didn’t he? Wasn’t he goin’ to get a jigger named Horse-Collar?”
“That’s right! Why, the dirty bum! And they’ve got my deputy along with ’em. See if you can find out where they are, Sleepy.”
“Is that so!” snorted Sleepy. “Take a look and grab a harp. Not me, brother.”
“Hunh! Well, they won’t shoot at me, I’ll betcha.”
Roaring strode over to the doorway, ducked convulsively when a bullet thudded into the wall behind him, and whirled in against the wall.
“I lose,” he said quickly.
The shooting had caused considerable excitement in the main street, but none of the three men went to the door until Hank Pitts, of the Big 4, came down to the doorway as a committee of one to find out what caused it.
“They’re over in the Ranger Saloon,” he told Roaring. “Anybody—my Lord, you shore got painted! Ink?”
“Ink! Nobody got hurt. Hartley accidentally fired Moses Conley’s gun, and them drunken fools thought we were shootin’ at them. Got a darn good notion to jail all three of ’em.”
“I wouldn’t; they’re drunk,” laughed Hashknife. “Nobody hurt.”
“I suppose that’s right. The darn fools might have killed somebody. Hank, if you see Wind River, will you tell him to sober up and get back on the job?”
Hank promised and went back to the Black Horse. Hashknife examined the shell he had fired, and a faint smile twisted his wide lips. He handed the gun back to Roaring, who was scrubbing his face with a handkerchief, trying to remove the ink, which had already dried in.
“Put that gun in a safe place, will you?” asked Hashknife.
“You’re right I will!” spluttered Roaring. “How’d you ever come to fire it thataway?”
“Slipped,” grinned Hashknife. “Mind if I talk with Jimmy Moran?”
“I reckon not. I’ll bet they’re wonderin’ what all the shootin’ was about.”
They opened the jail door and went in. Pete was frightened. He thought there had been an attempt to take him from the jail. Jimmy laughed joyfully at Roaring’s description of how Lovely and Horse-Collar and Wind River had got drunk and had come down to get him out of jail.
“They’re a wild bunch,” laughed Jimmy. “All heart and no brains.”
“I want you to tell me about Conley’s shootin’,” said Hashknife. “I’ve got Miss Conley’s story.”
“What’s the idea?” asked Jimmy cautiously.
“Just curious, Jimmy. Tell me about it.”
And Jimmy told him everything as he had seen it.
“You shot at a man, eh?” queried Hashknife.
“There was somebody behind that bush,” declared Jimmy. “I was kinda excited, you see. No, I didn’t see where the shot came from; I was too far around the corner. But I didn’t see anybody after I shot.”
Hashknife continued to question—
“Was there more than two shots fired?”
“That’s all, and I fired one of ’em.”
“You went out there to warn Conley that the Big 4 outfit were comin’ out, didn’t you?”
Jimmy nodded quickly.
“What else could I do?”
“Did you skin out them brands, Jimmy?”
Jimmy shifted his eyes and a ghost of a smile passed his lips.
“You’re just guessin’, Hartley,” he said.
Hashknife smiled.
“Good guesser?” he asked.
“Mebby you think you are.”
“By golly, I never thought of that!” exploded Roaring.
“I’m just tryin’ to help you, Jimmy,” reminded Hashknife.
“I need little help,” said Pete.
Hashknife turned his head and looked at the half-breed. Pete was leaning against the bars, a wistful expression in his dark eyes.
“I reckon you do,” agreed Hashknife.
“Pete ain’t even got a lawyer,” said Roaring.
“Don’t need none,” said Pete quickly. “Damn lawyer don’t know who kill Joe Mallette.”
Hashknife laughed softly.
“That’s very true, Pete.”
They left the jail and, while Roaring went on a hunt for Wind River Jim and his two wild-shooting companions, Hashknife and Sleepy got their horses and rode out of town, heading toward Hot Creek.
Quite a crowd collected in the Ranger Saloon, trying to get a firsthand account of the gun battle, and they got it in three distinct versions.
“They repulsed us,” said Horse-Collar dismally. “Oh, the loss was terrific. There was bodies stewed—strewed all over the street. In one plash—jus’ in one plash, mind you—I shaw twelve dead men in one pile. An’ if that ain’t the truth, you can cut off Lovely’s ears.”
“Whozears?” demanded Lovely. “Horsh-Collar’s a liar. That long-geared Hartley shot d’liber’tly at my heart; that’s what happened. Jus’ lifted his six-shooter and shez t’ me, ‘I’ve gotcha faded, Misser Lucas.’ Jus’ like that. And then he pulled the trigger. It was the mean-esht thing I ever beheld. That feller’s a murderer—jus’ a common murderer.”
“A-a-a-a-aw, hell!” snorted Wind River. “You and Horsh-Collar are drunk. Here’s what act’ally happened, gents. Me and Lovely and Horsh-Collar went down to pay our reshpects to Roarin’ Rigby. We was jus’ as innochent as a unborn sheep—three of ’em. Hartley and Stevens was there with Roarin’, you shee. Well, they mus’ ’a’ thought we was makin’ an attack, because they armed themshelves with Winchester rifles, you shee. And when we came in, p’lite as hell, and shed good-afternoon, they opened fire on us, jus’ like that.Bing! Bang! Boom! Bim!”
Wind River struck the bar three times, emphasizing his vocal imitation of a shot, but the fourth time he missed the bar and hit his chin on the edge of it.
“They must be drunk,” declared the bartender, grinning.
“I’ll shay they are,” agreed Horse-Collar.
“Didja kill any of ’em?” asked Hank Pitts.
“All five,” said Horse-Collar solemnly. “Let’s all have a drink. My conscience bothers me. It’s the firsh time I ever missed a shot. Gittin’ old. Any old time I have to take three shots to kill two men, I’m all wrong. Whatcha drinkin’?”
It was about ten minutes later when Roaring Rigby came into the Ranger Saloon. He leaned against the bar and looked sadly at Wind River Jim, who goggled at him owlishly.
“H’lo corpsh,” said Wind River.
“Go stick your head in a horse-trough,” advised Roaring. “Drown some of the liquor out of you and then go back to the office where you belong. You’re a hell of a deputy!”
“Deputy?” Wind River’s eyes opened widely. He turned and hit Horse-Collar a resounding whack between the shoulders, the force of the blow knocking Horse-Collar against the bar, from which he rebounded and sat down on the floor.
“You quit knockin’ Horsh-Collar ’round,” ordered Lovely. “Who do you think you are, anyway. Git up and pile him, Horsh-Collar. Don’t let’m knock you ’round, the big bully.”
“Who in the devil got hit?” wailed Horse-Collar in a thin voice. “Lemme alone, will you, Lovely? Keep your nose out of my business, will yu-u-u-uh? ’F I want to pile Wind River, I don’t need no advice from you. Gittin’ so a man can’t even git knocked down, without somebody advisin’ him.”
“Give ’m hell!” grunted Wind River. “’S’ all right, Roarin’. I’m shober.”
Wind River cuffed his wide hat almost over his eyes, got his bearings and headed out through the doorway.
“Have a li’l drink, Roarin’?” asked Lovely.
“You boys better go home, Lovely.”
“Tha’ so? Huh! Whaffor? Nothin’ to do. We ain’t goin’ home until—whatcha shay, Horsh-Collar?”
“Drunken idiots,” said Roaring, and he went out.