“Dog-gone you, I’ve got you now, you pariah pups!”
Magpie’s figure looms up from among our live stock. I sees the moonlight
shine on the barrel of his gun, and I says my little prayer. He pushes a
burro out of the way so he can have open shooting—but that burro was
Lodestone. We propped Magpie up against a mesquite bush and hung his
sombrero on the top so they’d find him, and then we points our cavalcade
toward the north star again. We pokes along until we comes to the top of
the big butte, from which we can see the lights of Piperock, and then we
stops for a breathing spell.
“Dirty,” says I, “you started to tell me what you and Polecat done to
them ice-cream containers last night. What was it?”
“Hornets. Six big nests, Ike. We—we stung our friends. Our old friends.”
“Old is the right word, Dirty. Anything else to tell me? How comes that
only four votes showed up when we know of six that were cast?”
“I was too loyal to my friends, I reckon, Ike. Remember when we busted
that ballot-box? Well, when I put our votes in, I took out two so as to
make it a cinch. I—I reckon I—— Well, Ike, I figured on taking the Dry
votes, but I reckon I got the wrong two.”
“Where are they?” I asks. “Can’t we take ’em back?”
“I didn’t dare to keep ’em, Ike; so I—I fed ’em to Lodestone.”