“Well, I couldn’t say about that,” said Joe. “But I know that if that hoss had give out ten minutes sooner, Joe Martin wouldn’t be settin’ here talkin’ to you tonight.”
“Yeah,” said Hank. “Joe always was a lucky cuss. If he was to fall in a sewer, he’d come out with a lily in each hand. Now, me, I was born too late. Land all took up, buffalo all gone; no more trail drivin’ up north. Still, what with reptiles and beasts and Mexico steers and buckin’ hosses, and the like, I’ve had my share of close calls.
“Funny how some little thing you don’t expect jest as like as not comes along and takes you off.”
“Nothin’ ain’t got you yet, Hank,” said Red. “You’re here, ain’t you? What you kickin’ about?”
“I was jest thinkin’ how near I come to bein’ kilt once. And if it hadn’t of been for Zac Weber, I would of been.
“That lad could handle a six-gun, I can tell you. I’ve seen him knock down six flyin’ quail with his old Colt forty-five, ridin’ at a high run. He could turn six pigeons loose at one time and knock ’em every one down before they could git away. When he went duck huntin’ he never packed anything but his old six-shooter. Some of the boys had shot-guns, but Zac said his conscience never would git over it if he turned one of them murderous implements loose on a pore helpless fowl. And he never shot a duck on the water, either. Not Zac. Mighty glad I was that he could shoot like that, too, for he saved my life.”
“Bandit trouble?” asked Lanky.
“Naw, worse,” said Hank, “though I could tell you something about Glen Springs, but that’s not the time Zac saved my life.
“Have you ever seen a centipede, Lanky?”
“No,” said Lanky; “I don’t suppose I have.”