“Yuh can’t git the best of Sim Sellers,” whoops a voice.
Sim comes on to the horses, which are plumb nervous. One of ’em ripped its bridle loose and went down the street and another threw itself, trying to get loose. Sellers is kinda between us and the windows, which stops their shooting.
“Don’t get scared, Buddy,” says Hashknife.
“I ain’t,” shrills Buddy. “Betcha I ain’t.”
“Sim,” says Hashknife, “you better think up a prayer, ’cause you’re goin’ to need one —— bad.”
Sellers cursed us and carried Buddy in close to that bay horse, which has anchored itself with its left side against the tie-rack and refuses to budge. It’s easy enough to use a kid for a shield against bullets, but it’s another thing to get on to a scared bronc with the kid in your arms and still keep covered.
Willer Crick are liable to hit Sellers if they shoot at us, so we takes things easy.
“You’re in a hole, Sim,” says Hashknife. “One bad move and you’re a goner.”
“You’ll have to get on Injun side,” says I, “and that bronc will sure love you for that.”