“That lady your boss?”
“Uh-huh. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. My horse fell with me and strained its shoulder. When I
got up she was gone.”
“You tellin’ the truth?” asks Hashknife.
Snag Thorn’s eyes got real narrow and he studies Hashknife. Then he
says-- “You don’t know me very well, do yuh?”
“He ain’t no liar,” says Windy; “Snag Thorn ain’t.”
“Much obliged, Woods,” says Snag Thorn.
“Excuse me,” says Hashknife. “That was a danged fool thing to say,
Thorn. Yuh see I was kinda excited. The sheriff arrested her and then
things happened in town and we didn’t find her at the ranch.”
“Yeah, I know,” says Snag, kinda weary-like. “I didn’t know she was your
boss, and I didn’t know she had a gun, but I saw Peeler reach for his
gun, so I cut down on him. The sheriff started after her but I cut him
back to the main herd, and then I seen that her horse was running away
with her. Peeler must ’a’ had hold of the bridle-reins and when her
horse yanked back the head-stall busted.”
“My ----!” gasps Windy. “She’s ridin’ without a bridle? Which way did
she go?”
“North,” says Snag. “The last I seen of her she was goin’ toward Devil’s
Dooryard, and then my bronc turned a somersault. When I got straightened
out she had disappeared.”
“It’ll be dark before we can get there,” says Hashknife. “That bronc she
is ridin’ will go hawg-wild without a bridle, ---- him! Mebbe he won’t
buck, but he--aw, shucks!”
Just then Blondy, Bowers and the sheriff comes in sight. They rides
slow-like up to us, looking like they was expectin’ trouble. Snag Thorn
leans against the doorway and looks at them. Then he says to the
sheriff--
“Come to get me for shootin’ Peeler?” The sheriff looks us all over and
then back at Snag.
“Didn’t know you shot him, Snag; thought it was the female.”
“I shot him,” states Snag coolly. “I’ll ask yuh--what did yuh arrest the
lady for, sheriff?”
Hack Allen wets his lips, rubs his sore jaw and rests his hands on his
saddle-horn.
“She’s the boss of the Circle Dot, ain’t she? Two of your men have been
shot on the Circle Dot Range, ain’t they? They been stealin’ your----”
“Period!” snaps Hashknife. “You’re goin’ to hold your breath too long
some of these days, Allen, and you’ll never get it again.”
“I’ll ask yuh for help when I need yuh, Allen,” says Snag.
“Yeah? Your dead-line didn’t seem to stop the Circle Dot.”
“Hack,” says Snag, “you better go back to your office and let my
business alone. Yuh might lock your door, too--if yuh want to play
safe.”
“I’ll run my office, _sabe?_ Neither you nor this bunch of gun-packers
from the Circle Dot can tell me where to head in at. You try takin’ the
law into your own hands and see how quick yuh get tripped up.”
Snag shrugs his shoulders and turns to Hashknife.
“What do yuh aim to do, Hartley?”
“Clean up this rotten range,” says Hashknife.
“Would yuh mind tellin’ me what this Baldy person was doin’ in the
Devil’s Dooryard the day he got shot?”
“Lookin’ for Bar 20 stock.”
“---- of a place to look for stock!” says Bowers.
“A cow don’t make tracks in there,” says Hashknife, thoughtful-like.
“Feller’d have to see the cow, I reckon.”
“What do yuh mean?” asks Snag.
“Baldy raved about seein’ cows in that place, but he was out of his
head.”
“The Circle Dot has lost a lot of cows, and there ain’t no ---- speakin’
of dead-lines, Thorn; you’ve got yours pretty well organized. I started
over here the other day, and as I crossed the Cow Crick I got two
bullets in my saddle. Yuh sure do protect your rights.”
“Did, eh?” Snag looks off across the hills, like he was thinking real
fast.
“I’ve lost a lot of cows,” complains Bowers. “Jist vanished.”
“This range needs cleanin’ up,” opines Hashknife, “and it’s time to get
busy. I ain’t accusin’ the Bar 20, Thorn. I think that Baldy was lookin’
for somethin’ in the right place. The Bar 20 is welcome to ride the
Circle Dot from now on. _Sabe?_ If the answer is on the Circle Dot
Range--find it.”
“Where yuh goin’ now?” asked the sheriff.
“Goin’ to find the lady first,” says Hashknife, “and after that I’m
goin’ to give you a few prisoners to feed, or a job for the coroner.”
“I’ll run my office!” snaps the sheriff, but Hashknife looks weary-like
at him and then turns away.
* * * * *
We went out of there and headed for the home ranch. Bowers rides with us
as far as his place and then swings into his own gate. We didn’t do any
talkin’ and he, for once in his life, didn’t harp about losing cows.
It’s dark when we reach the ranch, but Mary Jane hasn’t showed up yet.
Sing gives us a bite to eat and then we changed horses and hit into the
hills toward Devil’s Dooryard. There’s a big moon coming over the hills.
Not one of them flat-looking moons, but one what is round, like a big
yaller ball hanging up there.
Sudden-like, Hashknife stops his horse and points toward the moon. Along
’a jagged ridge above us, sharp-cut against the moon, appears a figure
on a horse. It’s there for several seconds, and then passes on.
“Mary Jane!” gasps Windy.
“Not unless she’s twins,” grunts Hashknife, as another mounted figure
passes between us and the moon.
“The danged fools!” grunts Hashknife.
“Well who do yuh reckon it is?” asks Windy, but Hashknife don’t reply.
He swings his horse and we rides up the hill, angling to try and cut the
trail of the two horsemen. It’s plumb dark and going is tough. We has to
angle all over that hill to get to the top, and when we get there we
ain’t no better off, as far as I can see.
Hashknife swings off his horse and ties it to a scrub-pine. Me and Windy
follers suit and then we all slips our Winchesters loose.
“Now that we’re all assembled, Hashknife, yuh might tell us whyfor and
which,” states Windy, peering off into that jumble of fantastic-looking
rocks.
“I dunno,” admits Hashknife. “I’ve just got a hunch.”
“He’s just got a hunch, Windy,” says I. “Hashknife’s like a lot of other
jaspers what ain’t got no brains--he has hunches. What does your pet
hunch say to yuh, Mister Hartley?”
“Hook on to your rifle and try to keep your big feet from rollin’
rocks,” grunts Hashknife, and we goes sneaking off across the Devil’s
Dooryard in the dark.
“I’d like to know where I’m goin’,” says I. “This here business of
packin’ a rifle and hobblin’ over----”
Just then I got my toe caught between two rocks and I sprawled flat on
my face. I throwed my rifle about ten feet away and the danged thing
went off. We can hear that old .45-70 echo from all points of the
compass. There ain’t a word said for a while, and then Windy says:
“Yuh hadn’t ought to have a gun, Sleepy. Honest to gosh, yuh hadn’t.
Next time we’ll give yuh a fish-pole.”
“No,” says Hashknife, sad-like; “no fish-pole, Windy. Give him a toy
balloon.”
“He’d likely pinch it and then she’d bust,” objects Windy.
“I couldn’t help it,” says I. “I fell. The gun must ’a’ struck on the
hammer. I can’t get my toe loose.”
“Can’t get loose?” grunts Hashknife. “Stuck fast, Sleepy?”
“Tighter ’n a wedge.”
“Fine! Come on, Windy. We’ll leave him where he’ll stay put.”
Know what them two wallopers done? Well, they went away and left me,
that’s what they done. After twisting my toe half-off, I discovers that
I can lift my foot out of my boot without no trouble, the same of which
gives me both hands to unfasten that trapped boot. Then I got my rifle
and blunders ahead in the dark about ten minutes behind Hashknife and
Windy. I don’t know where they went. I know I must ’a’ been Injuning
along pretty skookum, ’cause I almost stumbled over a cougar. Mister
Cougar gives one despairing yelp, and fades away among the rocks, while
old man Stevens’ son climbed up on a pinnacle of rocks and perspired
freely.
Just in below me is a deep cañon, winding around among the rocks. Every
danged thing looks kinda blue and silver-like. The moon ain’t climbed up
high enough to light up things much, and I lays there in the edge of
that pinnacle, trying to assemble enough tobacco to make a cigaret.
All to once I hears the squeak of saddle-leather and I spills the
tobacco. I listens some more and hears it again. Then I lays down and
peers into the cañon and I sees something. Ghosts! Honest to grandma, I
got a bird’s-eye view of two riders, passing along without a sound, and
all to once they fades out. They can’t be more than fifty feet below me,
and their horses don’t make a sound on that rocky floor.
“Sleepy,” says I. “You’ve plumb seen a ghost!” And then I says to
myself, “You’re a liar, ’cause ghost-saddles don’t squeak.”
Then I stand up and looks around, and across from me, against the
sky-line I sees a man. There’s only one way to find out whether he’s
friend or foe, and that is to kill him.
I lifts my rifle against the light of the sky and tries to notch my
sights. Then I took my rifle down, lays her on a rock and goes on
without it. I reckon it must ’a’ hit a rock when I fell, ’cause the
front sight has been knocked plumb off, and I ain’t like some fellers
that can shoot a rifle by the sense of smell. I sneaks along, using
every sense I’ve got, and all to once something tells me to stop.
I stands there for about two minutes, still as possible, and then I
hears Windy’s voice whisper:
“I dunno, ---- it! If it moves again I’ll take a chance.”
“It ain’t goin’ to,” says I.
“Got loose, did yuh?” asks Hashknife.
“No,” says I; “I dragged the whole ---- mountain over with me. Did yuh
see the ghosts? I knocked the sight off my rifle.”
“What ghosts?” asks Windy, and then I told ’em about the two riders I
seen in the cañon.
“Think he’s lying, Hashknife?” asks Windy.
“No-o-o-o. Ridin’ barefooted horses, with gunny-sacks mufflin’ their
hoofs. Went up the cañon, Sleepy?”
“I think so. I shook hands with a cougar about a minute before and maybe
my compass was out of order.”
“But where in ---- is Mary Jane?” says Windy, complaining-like. “All
this time we ain’t findin’ her a-tall.”
“Yuh might do like they do in hotels,” says Hashknife; “start off up the
Devil’s Dooryard, yellin’ ‘Mary Jane! Mary Jane Haley! Windy Woods wants
Mary Jane Haley!’”
“_Sh-h-h-h!_” hisses Windy.
We listens. Pretty soon we hear somebody walkin’ soft-like. Then
silence.
“My ----!” whispers Windy. “What do yuh reckon that was--ghosts?”
From ’way up the hill comes the rattle of a couple of shots. They must
be a quarter of a mile away. Then we hears somebody grunt; comes the
rattle of gravel, and then we hears somebody running.
“Come on,” says Hashknife, “but for ---- sake, go easy. There’s too
danged much shooting going on to suit me. Look out--here comes a horse!”
Over the top of a saw-tooth ridge jerks a horse. For a second or two
it’s outlined against the light of the sky and then it goes rattling off
across the rocks.
“That’s my horse!” exploded Hashknife. “Mary Jane is a-foot! Come on!”
_Bang! Bang! Bang!_
Three distinct shots split the night and rattle among the rocks.
“Six-shooter,” gasps Hashknife, stumbling. “I wish the devil would clean
up his yard!”
We staggers along, cutting our feet on the sharp rocks and praying that
it will be light enough to shoot when we meet somebody to shoot at. All
to once we hits the edge of that deep cañon. There ain’t no warning. I
feels my feet slip into some loose stuff, so I grabs hold of Windy.
I hears Hashknife speak an unlovely word, and then me and Windy starts
doing a toboggan to the bottom. It wasn’t straight down, but I’d just as
soon fall as to set down in that loose stuff and get all heated up doing
a slide for life.
* * * * *
We landed in the bottom with about a ton of loose stuff, composed mostly
of glassy gravel and other sharp-pointed particles. I got the dust out
of my mouth, and I orates openly that we’ve lost Hashknife.
That operation caused a bullet to _flup_ into our private landslide.
“Mebbe you’ll keep your mouth shut,” says Hashknife’s voice.
“How’d yuh get there?” I asks.
“Sittin’ down, yuh ---- fool!”
“Oh,” says Windy, taking a few deep breaths, “I’m all worn off from my
belt to my knees. Who is shootin’ at us, I’d love to ask?”
Then we seen the flash of the next shot and the bullet threw dust into
my face. I reckon our six-shooters cracked at the same time and then we
fell all over each other trying to change positions. I bumped into
Hashknife and we both fell over Windy.
“Don’t get excited,” begs Hashknife.
“That ---- fool up there couldn’t hit us with a shotgun--unless it was a
mistake.”
“Mistakes has killed a lot of good men,” wails Windy. “I don’t want to
be no accidental corpse. Let’s go and find Mary Jane Haley. We’re
wastin’ a lot of good time, don’t yuh know it? Come on.”
“Well, who is shooting at us?” I asks. “Hashknife Hartley, if yuh know,
tell us, will yuh?”
“Merely a surmise, Sleepy, but I think I’m right. Felt all along that I
had the answer, but I wasn’t sure until tonight.”
“Fine!” grunts Windy. “Go ahead and tell us.”
“Let’s get under cover and wait for daylight.”
“While our li’l boss wanders around this God-forsaken place in the
dark?” asks Windy. “I’m goin’ out and find her.”
“All right,” says Hashknife, “go ahead. I’ve got a hunch that
somebody’ll lead yuh up a heap if yuh climb any farther, but it’s your
business, Windy.”
“Who’d lead me up?”
“Tell yuh tomorrow--or, I reckon I’d better say, today. Must be gettin’
toward mornin’.”
A deer came along after while, and if Hashknife hadn’t grabbed my arm
I’d a took a shot at it. I thought it was a man with a white pack on his
back. It sure was sneaking along mysterious-like. My nerves had got to a
frazzled state. I ain’t brave. Nope--not when it’s so danged dark that I
can’t see which way to run.
After while it begins to get lighter and the old moon begins to lose a
lot of his yaller. Down the hill a cougar rises his voice in sorrow and
wo, and far away we hears the nicker of a horse.
“I can see to notch my sights,” announces Hashknife, after while, “and I
reckon I can recognize a friend as far as I can hit anything. Let’s go.”
“Who do we shoot at?” I asks. “Any preference, Hashknife?”
“I reckon they’ll show their hand, Sleepy. Keep your danged head down.”
“Whose danged head is this? Yuh won’t tell anything, and yuh crabs when
a feller wants to see something for himself. What for kind of a way is
that to act? Are we with yuh, or just one of your party?”
“I wants to find Mary Jane first of all,” says Windy, sad-like. “I’m
gettin’ worried.”
“Yeah, and get wrinkled like a Siwash squaw,” grunts Hashknife. “Whoa,
Blaze!”
Hashknife points at a jumble of rocks farther up on the hill. We sees
the figure of a man, humped over, crawling along like a big lizard.
Comes the _whang_ of a gun, and the man collapses in the rocks. But he
ain’t dead. We sees him shoot twice, and then he drops lower and begins
crawling.
“Shall I wing him?” asks Windy.
“Nope,” grunts Hashknife. “Dunno who he is yet. Got a idea, but ain’t
sure.”
“This is a lot of fun for us, Sleepy,” says Windy. “The general won’t
let us privates shoot until he sees the whites of their eyes.”
We sneaked along behind boulders, working up higher all the time. I
ain’t got no knees left in my pants, the same of which makes ’em match
in front and rear. We rounds the corner of a pinnacle, and Hashknife
stops.
“I’m foreman of the Circle Dot,” says Windy, peevish-like, “and I do
admire to know why they comes up here and shoots up my nice li’l rocks.
Goin’ to put up signs today, warnin’ folks to keep off my grass,
y’betcha.”
I sticks my head over the top. _Zowie!_ A bullet _spings_ off the rock
beside my ear and goes buzzing off down among the cliffs.
“Next time I go out with you, Sleepy, I’m goin’ t’ pack a spade,” says
Hashknife. “You sure does invite interment.”
We hugs the rocks for a while, and then peers out again. _Splat!_ A
bullet flattens right beside my ear and I slides back.
Then I scratches my ear, looks at the lead spatter on the rock and
cusses some more.
“We-e-e-ell,” drawls Hashknife, grinning, “I reckon you’ll get sensible
now. That only misses by six inches. Huh!”
Hashknife rolls over, pokes into a rock crevice, and begins to climb.
It’s only about seven feet to the top of the rock, and me and Windy
stays there looking up at the soles of his boots. He stops. We sees him
kinda anchor his knee against the side of the rock and then his rifle
sings its little song. A empty shell rattles down at us and we hears him
chuckle. Then he slides down to us and huddles down.
“Ketchum bad-man,” he grunts, stuffing another shell into the magazine
of his rifle.
“Didja hit him?” asks Windy.
“If I didn’t, he must be a danged fool to upset the way he did.”
_Spo-o-o-w!_ A bullet burned across my shoulder and whizzed into the air
off the rock behind me. I dropped flat and remembered every cuss word I
ever heard.
“And I raised him, Windy,” says Hashknife when I runs out of breath.
“I’ve learned his meek and mildness, but the minute the ---- fool gets
mad he backslides. Didja ever hear such language? Awful! I hates to see
anybody kill him, ’cause his soul won’t be welcome nowheres.”
“He ain’t got none,” declares Windy. “No soul a-tall, Hashknife, but,
man, man, he sure has a memory for words.”
“Burnt me right across the shoulder,” says I. “Stay here and get killed
if you must, but I’m goin’ to smoke that _hombre_ out. _Sabe_?”
“We’ve got to find Mary Jane,” says Windy. “All this time----”
“We’ll find her,” says Hashknife. “I figure she ain’t far away.”
* * * * *
We crawls over the top of them rocks, out through the fissure and glides
down the other side. Then we crawls on our hands, knees and belly until
our shirts are on a par with our knees and seats. We reaches the other
side of the hill and angles through the rocks, until we’re working
around behind a sort of cliff. Then a danged rattlesnake has to plant
himself right in our trail. Ornery son of a gun wouldn’t budge and we
didn’t want to shoot him for fear of letting folks know where we were.
There wasn’t a loose rock in reach, so Hashknife takes off his belt,
slips his holster off and then he slams Mr. Snake with the buckle-end.
It sure was effective. Windy collects the rattles as we go past. We gets
almost around the cliff and then gets to our feet and peers around.
“Got to get up higher,” whispers Hashknife. “I reckon we can climb this
end of the cliff.”
We crawls to the top and finds that it’s still lower than the main part
of the cliff, but between us and the high part is about fifty feet of
open country. We thought it was cliff all the way, and here we are up on
kind of a table-rock. We peers around.
“Look!” croaks Windy.
There’s a man crawling along the base of the higher cliff. Windy lifts
his rifle and lines his sights, but Hashknife pushes the gun aside.
“That’s Snag Thorn!” grits Windy.
“Lemme nail him, Hashknife. Dirty rustler.”
“Betcha the whole gang are scattered around here,” says I.
“Wait a minute,” cautions Hashknife. “Plenty of time to kill him.”
“My ----! Look!” wails Windy. “There’s Mary Jane!”
We gets a glimpse of her on the side of that cliff, beyond the angle of
where Snag Thorn is crawling, and she’s coming down. We can see her
plain for a moment and then she goes down behind the angle of the rocks.
“Snag’s sneaking up on her!” gasps Windy. “The dirty pup!”
“----!” grunts Hashknife. “He likely don’t know she’s anywhere near
here. Watch up the hill. Keep looking up toward where Snag is going.”
The three of us searches every sign on the side of the hill and all to
once Windy says: “I see a man. See that V-shaped pinnacle, with the
point stickin’ out the side? Look right in below that. See him?
Look--he’s movin’ around!”
Hashknife’s rifle jerks to his shoulder and shoots twice.
“My ----!” yelps Windy. “You’ve hit him! Some shootin’!”
“Come on,” snaps Hashknife.
We went down off that rock like three squirrels and went ducking and
dodging straight for where we seen Snag, but there ain’t a bullet coming
our way. We’re halfway across to the rock when we hears a gun, but
Hashknife don’t stop.
The three of us went around the corner of that cliff, and there stands
Snag Thorn with his back to us, and he’s nursing his right hand. Against
the side of the cliff stands Mary Jane, her hair hanging down, her hat
gone and her dress is all torn and dirty. Her face is as white as chalk,
and I thought she might ’a’ got hit. Neither of them sees us, although
Snag ain’t twenty feet away.
Then Snag says:
“I thought it was you. I seen yuh in town--just a glimpse, but I
remembered yuh, and when your horse ran away with yuh----”
“Oh!” says Mary Jane, “I w-wish I hadn’t shot you--I--I----”
“I tried to find yuh in Frisco,” says Snag. “I lost the address and I--
But it don’t matter, I reckon.”
Snag looks down at his hand.
“Yuh see the Circle Dot says I’m a rustler and my dad and your uncle
killed each other, and--I’ll help yuh get home safe, Miss Haley--if your
men won’t fill me full of lead on my way out.”
“Have they been shooting at you?” she asks and he nods.
“Did you or your men shoot at me?”
“I came alone--and I didn’t shoot at you.”
“I thought it was your men,” says she. “I--I--that horse ran away with
me and brought me up here. I was afraid to get off but after a while it
stopped and I got off, and--and I didn’t have any bridle and I couldn’t
catch it again.
“It got dark and I climbed up on top of the cliff and in the night I saw
two men on horses ride past. I was afraid to call to them, but as I
followed them--or rather went the way they did and heard them talking--I
almost ran into them. There’s a cave up there, and they were talking
something about somebody getting suspicious and about cow-tracks, and
one of them said the best thing they could do was to either bluff it out
or fight it out.
“I heard my name mentioned and Mr. Hartley’s, and--and I thought it was
some of your men, and then one of them said: ‘Let’s bunch it. Nobody
will ever know where we went, and they’ll never find this place in a
thousand years.’”
“A cave?” asks Snag. “Up here?”
“Yes. It’s big enough to ride a horse into. One of the men said: ‘This
sure has been easy pickings for us, but I made a big mistake when I
missed that Hashknife person. He’s got too much _sabe_.’ And then the
other one said: ‘Yes, you went too strong, I guess, and didn’t shoot
straight enough.’
“I don’t know just what happened then, but I must have touched a loose
rock, because it fell and made a lot of noise. I ran behind the rock and
they went past me. Then I crept to the side of the hill, but they saw me
and shot at me. I just remembered that I still had a gun and I shot. I
don’t think I hit anybody and then I managed to get here and climb up on
that rock. I--I think they shot several times at me, but it all seemed
like nightmare, and then I--I shot at you.”
“So did they,” said Snag, foolish-like.
* * * * *
Mary Jane leans back against the rock and begins to weep. I starts to go
over to her but Hashknife yanks me back. Snag walks over to her and pats
her on the shoulder, kinda bashful-like, and says:
“Gosh, don’t do that! I’m all right and you found the place where they
drifted all those cows, and we’ll find the rustlers.”
“Bub-but I shot you,” wails Mary Jane. “I--I don’t know how I happened
to hit you. You saved my life that n-night in San Francisco, and I
wanted to th-thank you, but I shot----”
“Aw, that’s all right,” says Snag, foolish-like. “You can shoot me any
old time yuh feel like it.”
Wasn’t that a ---- of a thing for a growed-up man to say?
“Duck!” says Hashknife, and the three of us went down like prairie-dogs
when a hawk shows up.
“What was it?” whispers Windy, cocking his gun.
“Arrows,” says Hashknife, and then he takes me by the arm and leads me
away, with Windy sneaking along behind.
Hashknife takes us ’way down among the rocks and then stops.
“Arrows?” asks Windy. “Whatcha mean?”
Just then we sees Mary Jane and Snag come down around the side of the
cliff. They stops and looks off across the country, and then they starts
off down among the rocks, and Snag and Mary Jane are hanging on to each
other’s hand.
“Arrows?” asks Windy again.
“Cupid,” explains Hashknife. “Little feller, who don’t wear no pants.
Shoots a bow and arrow.”
“You’re loco,” grunts Windy, and then we follers Hashknife up to where
we saw the man spill into the rocks. Windy looks at Hashknife, but don’t
say a word, and then we went down and helped Hashknife find the other
one.
“My ----” says Windy. “Did yuh know who they was, Hashknife?”
“Sure. I had a good idea right off the reel, but I wasn’t sure until I
got shot at down on Cow Crick, after I told Bowers I was goin’ over to
the Bar 20. Did you ever hear of that cave?”
“Nope,” replies Windy. “I don’t reckon anybody ever cared to pesticate
around up there, ’cause I never heard there was any caves.”
“There had to be a way out,” states Hashknife. “I reckon that old crater
must run plumb through into Bluff Lake Valley, and they runs a few head
of steers through at a time. Likely run in a few at a time and held them
up in the rocks until they has enough to make a drive. I knowed the
answer was up here, ’cause Baldy got shot here, and somebody bawled him
out for bein’ on Circle Dot Range. They kept the two ranches fightin’
each other, while they stole from both.”
“I wonder,” says Windy, sad-like. “I wonder if Snag and Mary Jane----”
“Kinda looks thataway,” nods Hashknife. “And the sheriff’s office ain’t
got no keeper and Blubber won’t ever have to get his adenoids cut out,”
says I.
“Well,” says Windy, “I reckon it’s all right for Snag to get Mary Jane.
I like her fine, yuh understand. Yeah, I like her better than any girl I
ever seen, but she’s too danged good for me. I--I never said anythin’ to
her--never intended to, yuh understand? Why, if she was to ask me to
marry her I’d have to refuse. Yessir, I’d have to. What would you do in
a case like that, Hashknife?”
“Just like you would, you ---- liar,” says Hashknife, and we went down
through the Devil’s Dooryard without further comment.