“Haw!” says Harelip, but that’s as far as he got.
Chuck ambles up to the bar, and looks ’em over.
“Holy henhawks!” he snorts. “Have yuh all gone loco?”
“Ain’t—ain’t yuh dead, Chuck?” stutters the old man.
“Almost—from thirst.”
Bill McFee has been looking, steady-like, at me for some time, and when he gets on his feet he sort of starts edging toward me. I edges the other way, sort of unconcerned-like, and bumps into Calamity. He’s got a billiard cue in his hands.
“Henry,” he whispers, “you lied to me.”
I nods, kicks his feet out from under him, and goes out of that back door like a shot. I races around to the front, and runs into something. They’re grouped, and I’m into ’em before I has time to think.
There’s the two Mudgett sisters, Hulda Peterson, Annie Schmidt, Mrs. Benson, Maggie Smith, Clarice Chaffin and the widder Saunders. The male members of the vigilance committee is Abe Mudgett and Breezy Benson.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Henry,” states the widder, sort of belligerent-like, and the chorus sings the last four words.