Having eaten enough to arouse the unqualified admiration of George, Johnny went to the kitchen and became busy with patch paper, tallow, and loading cup, and had just finished the twenty-fifth, and last, cartridge, when Two-Spot wandered in. George was out attacking the wood pile.
"Got 'em done, huh? Ain't it better to buy 'em?" asked Two-Spot, looking into the dining-room.
"It is, Ol' Timer, when you can. Just now I can't get 'em, so I got to make 'em."
His companion looked at the belt full of .45's. "Gimme a couple of them? I want to try somethin'."
Johnny complied. "Want to see if they fits?" he asked.
"What you mean?"
"Carson dropped his gun under Dave's floor. Who got th' one in th' road?"
"Don't say nothin'," begged Two-Spot. "Dave's an old woman, an' I don't want nobody to know I got it. He got th' other."
"What you goin' to do with yourn?"
"Keep it in my bunk. I might need it, sometime. I ought to have a rifle, though."