“Going to the mines?” pursued Bellyful. All his words were sweet and dreadful.
Then Aaron saw behind the pistol who it was.
“That kid a road-agent!” he thought. “Why didn’t I spot him yesterday?” And he blamed his own blindness, miserably and quite unjustly, because how could he know that Bellyful had only become a road-agent in the last ten minutes?
“Strip,” said Bellyful.
Aaron was slow about it.
A flash, a smoke, and a hole through Aaron’s Mexican hat cleared every doubt.
“You’re mature, I see,” remarked Aaron, and offered his unbuckled pistol.
“The other one now,” commanded Bellyful. This was a guess, but a correct one. “Leave ’em both drop down.”
Both dropped down.
“Go on strippin’.”