Horse-Collar shook his head so violently that he fell against the bar and sat down heavily on the bar-rail.
“Havin’ a chill?” queried Lovely. “My Lord, you shore can shake. Havin’ fits, Horsh-Collar?”
“Ain’t nobody goin’ mashacree nobody,” declared Horse-Collar. “Let’s go and fin’ Jimmy. Poor old Jimmy. Oh, poor old Jimmy!”
“Can yuh beat that?” demanded Lovely. “Cryin’!”
“Git up,” begged Wind River. “You make me shick. Let’s have one more drink, and then we’ll go down and have it out with Roarin’ Rigby. C’mon, Horsh-Collar. A-a-a-aw, dry up!”
“You fellers start monkeyin’ with the law, and you’ll get hurt,” said the bartender.
“Will, eh?” grunted Wind River. “Well, I’m about half of the law around here, and I know what I can do.”
Hashknife and Sleepy came from the restaurant near the Black Horse Saloon and saw Franklyn Moran and English Ed, sitting together in a buggy, the team of which was tied to the Black Horse hitch-rack.
Moran called to Hashknife, who went over to them. Sleepy sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and rolled a smoke.
“You’ve met Holmes, haven’t you, Hartley?” asked Moran.