"'Course 'e did, you h'ass!" cried the cockney scornfully. "W'y, 'e ain't put a finger on 'im th'ole passage, not even towin' out."
"I reckon Black Davis was some scared he'd lose his job if Jack downs him, same as that other fire-eatin' miscreant," mused Broncho. "No, he were dead agin playin' your hand, Jack; he weren't hankerin' to be your beef—he's too keerful of his skin that away."
"Gaud blimy! Wot er scrap h'it would er been," lamented the cockney.
"It shore would ha' been some lurid, but I pities the mate. He was due to emerge a totterin' wreck. Jack was just a-moanin' for blood an' oozin' with f'rocity," asserted the cowpuncher.
"He did look a heap grim," remarked Bedrock Ben.
"But what if Black Davis had downed him?" inquired Pinto.
"Sich thoughts is figments," said Broncho contemptuously. "I'm puttin' up chips Jack'd have that rancorous hold-up too dead to skin. Jack weren't aimin' to put no delicacy into his play, that time."
"Green, if you don't tcha-tcha[6] and strike eight bells, you'll have the mate on your trail," broke in the bucko-downer, anxious to cut short the conversation.
And a few moments later the silvery note of the bell announced that the first watch had begun.