"No, he ain't particular hurt. Just his neck squashed a bit where the sheriff throttled him. He didn't fight enough to get hurt, curse him!"
Frowning, Sandersen shook his head. "He's a fighting man, Arizona, if they ever was one."
It seemed that everything infuriated the fat man.
"What d'you know about it, Lanky?" he demanded of Sandersen. "Didn't I run the affair? Wasn't it me that planted the whole trap? Wasn't it me that knowed he'd come into town for you or Cartwright?"
"Cartwright!" gasped Jig.
"Sure! We nailed him in Cartwright's room, just the way I said we would. And they laughed at me, the fools!"
He might have gathered singular inferences from the lowered head of Jig and the soft murmur: "I might have known—I might have known he'd try for me."
"And I might have had the pleasure of drilling him clean," said Arizona, harking back to it with savage pleasure, "but I shot out the light. I wanted him to die slow, and before the end I wanted to pry his eyes open and make him see my face and know that it was me that done for him! That was what I wanted. But he turned yaller and wouldn't fight."
"He wouldn't kill," said Jig coldly. "But for courage—I laugh at you,
Arizona!"
"Easy," scowled the cowpuncher. "Easy, Jig. You ain't behind the bars yet. You're in reach of my fist, and I'd think nothing of busting you in the face. Shut up till I talk to you."