“Ye got er blame’ good hoss,” remarked Shorty Dobbs, with an up-and-down look over Wild Bill and a more or less admiring glance in the direction of Beeswax.
“He’s second ter but one hoss on the Brazos,” declared Wild Bill proudly, “an’ that one hoss is Buffler Bill’s Bear Paw.”
“I know this hoss,” said Weasel Skinner. “The last time I seed this hoss, Wild Bill Hickok was a-ridin’ him.”
The Laramie man chuckled.
“The hoss belonged ter Wild Bill afore I took him,” said he. “That ole Laramie fossil won’t never see Beeswax no more. The animile is mine, now.”
“Hickok’ll git his hoss back if he has ter take yer h’ar ter do it,” asserted Splinters Gibson.
“No feller o’ Hickok’s size’ll ever git my skelp,” bragged Wild Bill, taking a tremendous pleasure in this turn of the talk. “I kin show Hickok the way I wear my back h’ar any day ye kin find in the almanac.”
“Ye got gas enough fer a b’loon ascension,” grunted Ace Hawkins, “an’ mebby that’s all thar is to ye.”
“Mebby,” agreed Wild Bill, “an’ mebby ye ain’t got as much sense as what the law allows.”
“I got sand if I ain’t got sense,” flared Ace Hawkins, “an’ if ye say the word, I’ll knock yer spine up through the top o’ yer head till it sticks out like a flagpole. I——”