“Ben, who is this Hashknife Hartley?”
“A damn nuisance! I wish he’d get a job and go to work. I’m tired of him hivin’ up in my office. Breezy likes him, so here he stays. Mebby I’ll have to fire Breezy to git rid of Hartley and his grinnin’ pardner. Half the time I don’t have a chair to set on around here.”
The big gambler grinned lazily.
“This shootin’ stuff is gettin’ on yore nerves, Ben.”
“Didn’t it git on yore nerves, when you was sheriff?”
“They wasn’t shootin’ at me,” grinned Cole.
“Well, they ain’t shootin’ at me—yet. When they do, I’ll quit. It’s bad enough to be questioned.”
Ben raked his spurred heel across the top of his desk.
“Must be a damn brave man who shot at Baggs,” he said savagely. “When yuh have to bushwhack fellers like him it’s shore sneakin’. Next time I hope they pick some other place for the killin’, instead of my office.”
“Have yuh talked to Baggs about it, Ben?”