“Half-Mile’s bronc is in there, too,” adds the judge. “Half-Mile roped it and then fell off his bronc as it went into the door.”
“Gosh!” grunts Magpie. “I feel sorry for the bronc.”
We walks down to the flag of truce and like a pair of danged fools we let ’em get the drop on us. They takes our guns and throws away the flag. Then they prods us down in front of the saloon, where all of Piperock stands or mills around. They gives us three cheers—we already had a tiger.
“Now,” says Judge Steele, “we’ve got these hombres. Wick, you hold the watch. Now we’re going to give you hombres just five minutes to get your danged tiger out of our late friend Buck Masterson’s place of business.”
“Late?” asks Magpie. “Is Buck late?”
“Well,” says the judge, taking off his hat, “maybe I was a bit hasty in that statement but I will say this much: He’s danged tardy.”
“Old Testament is tardy, too,” says somebody in the crowd.
“One minute is passed,” states Wick.
“The consequences is what?” I asks.
“Your case is parallel with horse-stealing,” states the judge.