Magpie looks at the crowd and grins.
“You horse-thieves suffering any to speak of?”
“Two minutes gone,” reminds Wick. “You know best.”
“Can I have a gun?” asks Magpie, but the judge shakes his head.
Magpie tightens up his belt and spits on his hands.
“Come on, Ike!”
I wonders at the time what Magpie spits on his hands for. He sure wasn’t afraid the tiger would slip through his hands. Cleopatra was awful old and old age naturally makes her childish and cross. Reminded me of that poem about the woman who knew by heart from finish to start the book of iniquity. Cleopatra was that kind, I reckon.
We pilgrimed up to the front door, but all is still.
“You better go around to the back door, Ike,” whispers Magpie.
“Speak up loud!” says I. “What you trying to do, sneak up on her? Why should I go to the back door, Magpie? We don’t want to catch her, do we?”