“What I want to know is what are yuh going to do?” squeaks Scenery. “When we elects yuh sheriff——”
“They,” corrects Magpie. “You voted for Allen, Scenery.”
“Then I got something to be proud of. I’m glad that folks can’t hold me responsible for you.”
Him and Zeb ambles off up-town, and we goes inside.
“There ain’t no joy in being a sheriff!” yelps Magpie, throwing his boots over in the corner. “Your duty sort of keeps yuh from pulling a gun and acting free-like. I’m going out tomorrow and get that bad, bad-man, Ike. You watch me.”
The next morning he shaves careful-like, and greases his boots.
“Going to try and make a mash on him?” I asks. “You ought to have some perfume, Magpie. You look like a bridegroom.”
“Ike,” says he, ignoring the compliment, “I wants you to ride up to Sullivan Gulch, and see if anybody’s living there. We got to locate something or somebody pretty soon.”
“Where you going?” I asks.
“Into the breaks between here and the Circle-Cross.”