“Come on out, Slivers! I got ’em both,” Allen called, as he straightened up.
Slivers appeared at the doorway and cautiously peered down at the two sprawled figures.
“Hell! I thought I was goin’ to get in on the gun play,” he grumbled. Then he added: “Hey! Them fellas must have used cannon, ’cause they sure peppered ol’ Pop’s overcoat an’ hat!”
Allen glanced at the straw-stuffed overcoat lying on the floor. It was riddled by buckshot.
“Pop would sure be in kingdom come if he had been in that coat. Take a look at them fellers, Slivers,” Allen directed.
Slivers stooped and examined the two bodies by the light of a match.
“One of ’em is Ben Jones what works for Steve Brandon, an’ tother is Big Anderson who works for the Blue Sky,” Slivers announced.
“Anderson will know better the next time not to mix with the Allens.” Jim Allen grinned at his joke, and Slivers chuckled.
“Take a look at Anderson’s hands an’ see if they looks like a miner’s hands,” suggested the little man.
“Naw, not a callous on ’em,” Slivers announced a moment later. “That gent never worked none with a drill.”