"Correc'. And I don't hear no hosses behind us."
"I strung them together on a rope," said Bartley.
"How's that?"
"I tied Sneed's horses together, with a rope. Ran it through the
bridles--like stringing fish. Not according to Hoyle, but it seems to
have worked."
Cheyenne shook his head. He did not quite get the significance of
Bartley's statement.
"Any one get hurt?" queried Bartley presently.
"Nope. I spoiled a lamp, and I reckon I hit somebody on the head, in the
dark, comin' through. Seems like I stepped on somethin' soft, out there
back of the barn. It grunted like a human. But I didn't stop to look."
"I had to do it," declared Bartley ambiguously.
"Had to do what?"
"Punch a fellow that wanted to know what I was doing with your horse. I
let him have it twice."
"Then you didn't hit him with your gun?"
"No. I wish I had. I've got a fist like a boiled ham. I can feel it
swell, right now."
"That there mescal is sure pow'ful stuff."
"Thanks!" said Bartley succinctly.
"Got a kick like white lightin'," said Cheyenne.
"And I paid our hotel bill," continued Bartley.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191