“He is not badly hurt,” was Lee Yung’s opinion. “For a long time he will swallow with difficulty, I think.”
“Hashknife, you shore pressed his old Adam’s apple,” applauded Musical Matthews. “My God, what a complete cleanup!”
“You can put down yore hands,” said Sleepy to Jack Baum.
Baum lowered his hands, but was careful to keep them away from his gun. Kohler coughed and sat up, painfully massaging his throat, while his eyes squinted around, as if wondering what it was all about. Someone helped him into a chair, and the bartender asked him how he was feeling, but Kohler’s voice had fled.
“Tied a knot in his vocal cords,” observed Ike gleefully.
Baldy finished bandaging his wrist. Lee Yung found his gun and put it in the holster for Baldy, who came closer to Hashknife.
“I’ve been wonderin’ what you was doin’ down here,” he said slowly, and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I reckon yo’re rheumatism is near enough cured for you to vamoose. Take my advice and get out muy pronto, hombre.
“Torres killed one of my men, Hartley. You stopped me from payin’ him back for this murder, or rather you stopped my men from doin’ what I started in to do. Yore breed don’t thrive in this country, so take my advice, right now.”
Hashknife smiled easily.
“How do you know Torres killed Blair?”