I feels two men slip past us in the dark, but I don’t reckon that Scenery heard ’em. He moved over the table, knocked the lamp-chimney on the floor, and then managed to light the rest of the lamp. He squints at us, and then goes over to the cell, where he peers inside. Then he sets down in a chair and stares at us. We don’t say a word, but we’re dang near bustin’ inside. Pretty soon Scenery gets up, like a feller walking in his sleep, and goes inside and pulls the door shut after himself.
“I—I don’t know,” he squeaks in a whisper, staring at us through the bars. “I ain’t felt good for a week—dang it! Seein’ spots in front on my eyes. It sure is —— to see things thisaway. Must be my stummick.”
Dirty stepped over, blowed out the light and we went outside.
“Where to?” I asks.
“Any civilized port,” says Dirty.
“Somewhere, Ike, there must be a place where a feller can use up the rest of his misspent life without hidin’ behind a stump every time a human bein’ shows up.”
“We’ve got to get transportation,” says I. “Let’s go boldly and take a horse per each from the tie-rack, and go hence rapidly.”
There’s a crowd in front of Sam Holt’s place. Me and Dirty went right to the rack, picked a likely looking bronc per each and got aboard, minus saddles and with nothing on their hammer-heads but hackamores and hair.
Man, I thought that mouse-colored animile could do everything in the book, but this long-legged roan proved to me that my other mount was peckin’ along in the kindergarten class.