Slippery sure ain’t no imitation. He’s had the Montana officers buffaloed for so long that they think he’s more than one man. The accumulated rewards for him look like the weekly clean-up at the U. S. mint.
Me and Muley wishes to see the proceedings, so we rides down to Paradise the next day with Telescope, and has converse with Archibald Ames. He squints at the sky and shakes his head.
“I doubt it,” says he. “Too cloudy. Yuh can’t get snappy stuff in atmosphere like this, and there can’t be no retake. We’ll let her go until tomorrow. I may set up after a while and get some character stuff. Lots of local color around here. Good characters, and the background is great. Know what I mean?”
“Perfectly,” says I. “Sheep-herders and so forth.”
Telescope opines that old man Bowers’ ranch is calling him, so a little later on he rides away, he and Muley horns into a poker game, and about an hour later Archibald Ames invades the place and leans against the bar. Mike Pelly leaves the table to serve him, but Archie ain’t dry. He asks a question—
“Can you tell me where I can get some raw beef?”
He turns to us, and we sees the most wonderful black eye yuh ever seen.
“Holy henhawks!” I snorts. “What yuh been doing?”
“I’ll tell yuh,” snorts “Doughgod” Smith, from the doorway. “He’s been exhibiting his danged ignorance. He opines to get a picture of a shepherd and he picked me!”
“Doughgod ain’t no shepherd,” I explains to Archie.