“Maybe Jeff can prove he was somewhere else?” suggested Jimmy.
Billy evaded the issue.
“What sort of a man is this Bransford? Any good? Besides being an enemy of Lake’s, I mean?”
“Mr. Bransford is one whom we all delight to humor,” announced the deputy, after some reflection.
“Friend of yours?”
Jimmy reflected again.
“We-ll—yes!” he said. “He limps a little in cold weather, and I got a little small ditch plowed in my skull—but our horses was both young and wild, and the boys rode in between us before there was any harm done. I pulled him out of the Pecos since that, too, and poured some several barrels of water out o’ him. Yes, we’re good friends, I reckon.”
“He’ll shoot back on proper occasion, then? A good sport? Stand the gaff?”
“On proper occasion,” rejoined Jimmy, “the other man will shoot back—if he’s lucky. Yes, sir, Jeff’s certainly one dead game sport at any turn in the road.”