"What's th' matter with you? An' what's all th' hellaballo?" indignantly demanded another and more distant voice. "How can a man sleep in such a blasted uproar?"
"Shut up!" roared Purdy with heat. "Who cares whether you sleep or not? He cut my head an' near busted my arm with his d—d rocks! Mebby you think they ain't makin' good time when they get down here! Only hope he stumbles an' follers 'em!"
"He's a lucky fool," commented Fleming, serene in the security of his new position. "Luckiest dog I ever saw."
"Lucky!" snorted Purdy. "Lucky! Anybody else would 'a' been picked clean by th' ki-yotes before now. For a cussed fool playin' a lone hand he's doin' real well. But we got th' buzzard where we want him!"
"Lone hand nothin'," grunted Fleming. "Didn't he have that drunken Long Pete helpin' him?"
Purdy growled in his throat and gently rubbed his numbed arm. "There's another. It just missed th' fire. Say! That's what he's aimin' at!"
"Mebby he is," snorted Fleming; "but if he is he's got a cussed bad aim. Judgin' from where they landed, I bets he was aimin' 'em all at me. I got four bits that says he wasn't aimin' at no fire when he thrun them little ones. One of 'em come so close to my head that I could hear th' white-winged angels a-singin'."
"'White-winged angels a-singin'!'" snorted Purdy. "H—l of a chance you'll ever have of hearin' white angels sing. Yore spiritual ears'll hear steam a-sizzlin', an' th' moans of th' damned; an' yore spiritual red nose will smell sulphur till th' stars drop out."
"I'm backin' Purdy," said the distant voice. "They don't let no skunk perfume get past th' Golden Gates."
"They won't let any of you in hell," jeered a clear voice from above. "You'll swing between th' two worlds like pendulums in eternity. Cow-thieves are barred."