“Against the law. Them sheep are within the law, mister.”
“Yah? Well, let me tell you something, you lousy shepherd: I’ll get my punchers and we’ll show you! We’ll chase ’em so far that——”
“Get off!” orders Dirty. “You’re up so high I can’t hear your voice.”
He had a gun, but I reckon he also had a weak heart, so he got off and gave me his gun. I reckon he’d ’a’ given us his weak heart, too, if we’d asked for it, ’cause Dirty has a nervous way of fingering a trigger.
“What in —— are you going to do now?” he asks.
“Hoord ships,” grins Dirty. “I’m ship-hoorder.”
“Oh!” says he. “You’re the Swede herder that ‘Alcohol’ Adams spoke about.”
“What did he say?”
“Said you didn’t have brains enough to wad a shotgun with.”
“What do you think?” I asks.