"C-couple o' fellars w-with g-guns h-h-hidin' back o' ther
d-dump. C-c-carried two b-bucks 'hind ther sh-shaft-house; h-h-hurt
some, I 'speck. R-reckon I must a' g-got both on 'em. Y-y-you shore
ought t-ter wear t-t-telescopes, Bill."
Hicks stared at his partner, his gray goat-beard sticking straight out,
his teeth showing.
"So yer got 'em, hey?" he retorted, savagely. "Oh, ye 're
chain-lightnin', yer are, Stutter. Ye 're the 'riginal Doctor Carver,
yer long-legged, sputtering lunk-head. Yer crow like a rooster thet 's
just found its voice. Now, look yere; I reckon it's brain-work what's
got ter git us out o' this yere hole, an' I 'll shore have ter furnish
most o' that, fer yer ain 't got none ter spare, as ever I noticed.
Shoot! hell, yes, yer kin shoot all right, an' make love ter Greasers;
but when thet's over with, yer all in. That's when it's up ter old
Bill Hicks ter do the thinkin' act, and make good. Lord! yer leave me
plumb tired." The old man peered out across the vacant space toward
the apparently deserted dump, the anger slowly fading away from his
eyes.
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