“Which I stand kerrected. Buffler Bill an’ pards have shore done a heap fer the Perrys an’ Nate Dunbar. Gosh-all-whittaker! Say, I’d have given my boots ter see a weddin’ in the saddle, hosses slashin’ erlong like all-possessed, sky pilot pufformin’ like he never done afore! Say, I’ll bet that was some fine as a spectacle.”
“Some, and that’s a fact, Sim,” said Wild Bill. “But you’re not telling why you raced up here like a scared coyote looking for home and mother. Does it pain you any to get down to cases?”
“Hyer’s where I git at it,” answered Sim. “That sky pilot, Jordan, the feller as done the knot tyin’ while the hosses was at a run, sent me hyer. He had a message fer Buffler Bill an’ pards.”
“Ah,” spoke up the scout. “What was the message?”
“‘Tell Buffler Bill,’ says the sky pilot, ‘not ter leave the Star-A ranch fer a spell yit. Tell him,’ he says further, ‘that ther trouble ain’t over fer ther Perrys.’ Things is hatchin’ right this minit, he allows, over ter Lige Benner’s. Lige ain’t feelin’ none too good over the way he got done up, an’ he’s plannin’ ter cut loose with some other kind of er rough house.”
“How did Jordan discover that?” queried Buffalo Bill.
“One o’ Benner’s men, who’s a friend o’ Jordan’s, sprung a leak. The sky pilot got all worked up. He’s a nervy ombray, that same Jordan, but he’s been takin’ more physical exercise lately than what he kin stand. He’s laid up fer repairs in the Delmonico Ho-tel in Hackamore.”
“Not sick?”
“Not him—jest tired like. Preachin’ the Gospel is some differn’t from makin’ er splice in the saddle with the hosses jest er-smokin’. Right strenyus work fer a sky pilot, I call that.”
“What sort of deviltry is Lige Benner hatching, Sim?” went on the scout.