“Whatcha goin’ to do?” I asks.
“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine, Sleepy. When I get around the corner here start shooting. Empty your rifle and then empty mine. Sabe? Fan them windows to a fare-thee-well, and I’ll do the rest. Buddy, keep down low. Ready?”
I takes both rifles, nods to him and starts throwing lead. I sure did send hot hunks of sudden death into that place. I emptied both rifles and then sent six shots from the .45 I borrowed out in the mesquite.
Two or three shots was all that answered, but they never came towards me.
“Good work, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife.
I slammed shells into the loading-gates of them two rifles and then took a look. Hashknife is flat up against the front of that building, and is fussing with a fuse.
I hears a bunch of argument in the hall, and I takes a snap-shot at somebody who got too close at the window.
“Keep ’em back, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife, cheerful-like, reeling out fuse from the box of dynamite.
“Sol Vane!” he yells.