“All right, Big Medicine. I s’pose that’s right, too. But I get kinda mad once in a while.”
“You should learn to control your temper.”
Sleepy grinned, as he remembered how Big Medicine had pitched Jim Reed out on his head that morning. Big Medicine had said nothing about being mad, but had admitted that Reed had irritated him beyond endurance. Sleepy wondered what Big Medicine might do if he became mad.
They finished their meal and went back to the creaky-floored living-room, where Musical proceeded to put a record on the phonograph. After the second record Sleepy grew nervous. He hitched his chair around, tore up two cigarette papers, and decided he would go and see how Hashknife was getting on with his bath.
He went out through the kitchen, where Lucy and Wanna were clearing off the table, and the old squaw handed him a clean towel.
“I ain’t goin’ to take a bath,” he told her smiling.
“All right. You giveum to tall man. He need much towel.”
“There is quite a lot of him,” grinned Sleepy. “Thanks.”
The door was not latched and he stepped out softly. The bathhouse was only fifty feet away. About ten feet from the open door of the bathhouse crouched a man, holding a lantern in such a way that his face was fully illuminated. Lying on the ground was the body of a man.
Sleepy stepped forward, his right hand reaching back to his gun.