“What was the matter?” asked Lanning, jerking his thumb in the general direction of Torres.
Hashknife squinted thoughtfully at Torres and back at Lanning.
“He forgot, I reckon.”
“Forgot what?”
“Forgot that I asked him for a match.”
Lanning scowled after Hashknife and Sleepy, who were heading for their horses, and turned to the three men who had ridden in.
“Do you know what it was all about?” he asked.
“No-o-o,” drawled one of the men. “We didn’t see that anythin’ was wrong, until this tall puncher had Torres in both hands and was packin’ him like a flag. He shore is deliberate, that feller. Haw, haw, haw, haw!”
Torres managed to get back to his feet and was clinging to the anvil. His eyes were red from the dirty water, and he was altogether mad, but his lips shut firmly as he looked at the crowd in front of the wide doorway.