"My executors will naturally pay my debts first—if my estate is equal to it."
"Yu seem to like Heaven best, kid," muttered Bean. "It's close up to here—the way yu're going."
"One might be forgiven for preferring the other place," replied Stamford. "At least there's only one devil there."
The cowboys grinned appreciatively.
"Best call it off, Dakota," suggested Bean.
Dakota frowned.
"If you geezers know of any quicker way of getting off the H-Lazy Z than by Joe-Joe, trot the idea out and let's look at it, and precipitous-like."
Joe-Joe, a mule-faced, conscience-stricken creature, with a scraggly tail that never stopped flicking, came humbly up at the rear of Alkali, bridle and saddle having been adjusted in the stables to an accompaniment of clatter that confirmed Stamford's suspicions. Still he had no thought of funking. He reached out for the rein.
His hand was pushed roughly aside, and Bean Slade vaulted into the saddle, cigarette between his lips. With a touching appeal in his wandering eyes Joe-Joe looked about on the unsympathetic audience, then, with a jerk that was startling even to see, he lowered his head, arched his back, and leaped straight up with stiffened legs, all part of one movement.
When he landed, every bone in Bean's lanky body rattled; and before they had time to rearrange themselves Joe-Joe was in the midst of a new gyration that loosened Bean's sombrero and cigarette.