"Some lucky it ain't his head," replied Williams.
"His head? Bud would never miss that. But his pore little ole finger, layin' calm and cold back there. A very sad business, brethren."
"I paid twelve sweaty plunks for her in Los and look at her!" cried Pars Long, doffing his sombrero. The high crown was literally shot to pieces. "I guess I am some wise guy. You fellas kidded me about sportin' an extra high lid. Come on, Chico, they're laughin' at us!"
"If they'd 'a' shot the crown off clean down to your ears, you'd never noticed it," grumbled Billy Dime.
"Mebby I am a flat-headed chicken, Billy, but I got both wings yet," retorted Long.
Billy Dime looked down at the blood-soaked sleeve of his right arm. "The fella that did it is eatin' grass now," he muttered.
"Now, what's the matter with Miguel? Discovered any bullets nestin' in your manly buzzum, Miguel?"
"I think no. But I lose something," replied Miguel, smiling.
"That so?"
"I did have the tobacco and papers here," he said, and he put his hand on his chest. "Now I look and the pocket and some of the shirt is not there—and my tobacco is gone, and the little papers."