“Course I ain’t,” he flares back. “Most o’ the fellers are still roundin’ up, an’ the rest are out huntin’ for Red Erickson.”
“Red been gettin’ thoughtless again?” sez I. Red Erickson was a big Dane who had the habit o’ runnin off stock an’ shootin’ any one who disagreed with him.
The ol’ man merely pointed to a paper pinned up on the wall offerin’ fifteen hundred dollars for Red, dead or alive. He hadn’t been operatin’ on Diamond Dot stuff, so we hadn’t paid much heed to him.
We strolled on over to Eugene’s an’ found him sittin’ down an’ talkin’ about the peculiar custom o’ guinea-pigs; so we knew that he had swallered the bait; but he didn’t offer to bet with us.
Then we went back an’ asked ol’ man Dort if he believed that a guinea-pig’s eyes would fall out if he was held up by the tail.
“It’s all rot!” sez the ol’ man, indignant. “Any one who sez such nonsense never studied the way eyes is fastened in. The tail ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
“What kind o’ tails has guinea-pigs got?” sez I.
“Why they got—?” sez the ol’ man, an’ then stopped an’ looked blank. “What kind o’ tails have they got?”
“They haven’t got any,” sez I. “Now listen; would you be willin’ to risk a little money to even up with Eugene?”
“I’d risk every thing I got, down to my very hide,” sez the ol’ man, earnest to a degree.