“You two——”
That’s as far as he got. Magpie hit him so hard that his head hit the
ground before his body did.
“I figure he’s the one what hit me,” says Magpie, sucking his knuckles.
“Somebody hit me, and they can’t do it and get away with it, believe
me!”
“They sure can’t,” says I. “I’d do the same, Magpie.”
And right in the middle of the street I stripped that sheriff clean and
piled what was left of them female clothes upon his sleeping form. Any
time they tell you that clothes don’t make the man—let ’em wear skirts
for a while.
“What started it, anyway, Ike?” asks Magpie. “I don’t seem to _sabe_
much.”
“More of your circumstantial evidence. Peaceful thought that the sheriff
had been sent here to take their preacher away from War Bonnet, and the
War Bonneters objected at the top of their voices.”
“Too bad, Ike. I hates deception in any form. Let’s find a couple of
broncs. We’re going back and expose a fake preacher. _Sabe?_”
We crosses the street and walks up the other side. Folks are beginning
to drift back to the Golden Glow and we don’t want nobody to see us.
Here and there we hears the pop of a gun, which shows that the spirit is
still awake.
We finds a rack full of horses and we sneaks up to look ’em over. I
eases up to one and feels of the saddle. Honest to grandma, I took right
hold of the cantle, and my fingers sunk into that bullet hole. I digs
into the sheriff’s pockets and finds a match. It’s my bronc, as sure as
shooting, and the one next to it is Magpie’s.
“Glad I hit that danged sheriff, Ike,” says Magpie. “Didn’t take ’em
long to appropriate our stuff, did it? Well, we ain’t stealing when we
takes back our own property.”
“Now,” says I, “let’s go far and fast.”
“I don’t think we will. We’re going to get that money at Peaceful’s and
we’re going to show up Greasewood’s minister. _Sabe?_”
“Aw, ——! What do we care, Magpie? Leave the money where it is.”
“We will not! I’m going to square myself by sending a preacher to the
pen.”
“Well, let’s get into the bedroom window then. I won’t walk through the
front door and explain things to Mrs. Peaceful—or Peaceful.”
We rode behind the house and tied our broncs and sneaked up to the
window. Being in practise, we has no trouble getting in without making
any noise. We didn’t no more than get inside when we hears voices in the
parlor. We strains our ears.
“You-all brings queer news,” opines Peaceful’s voice. “Almighty queer! I
sure am shocked a heap.”
“It’s the Gospel truth,” says another voice. “One of your citizens—Happy
Harmon, I believe it was—bragged to one of my flock, or we would not
have known it so soon.”
“Augusta,” whispers a voice right beside us, “are you awake?”
“Yes, sister. What is the matter?”