“I reckon you do,” agreed Hashknife.
“Pete ain’t even got a lawyer,” said Roaring.
“Don’t need none,” said Pete quickly. “Damn lawyer don’t know who kill Joe Mallette.”
Hashknife laughed softly.
“That’s very true, Pete.”
They left the jail and, while Roaring went on a hunt for Wind River Jim and his two wild-shooting companions, Hashknife and Sleepy got their horses and rode out of town, heading toward Hot Creek.
Quite a crowd collected in the Ranger Saloon, trying to get a firsthand account of the gun battle, and they got it in three distinct versions.
“They repulsed us,” said Horse-Collar dismally. “Oh, the loss was terrific. There was bodies stewed—strewed all over the street. In one plash—jus’ in one plash, mind you—I shaw twelve dead men in one pile. An’ if that ain’t the truth, you can cut off Lovely’s ears.”
“Whozears?” demanded Lovely. “Horsh-Collar’s a liar. That long-geared Hartley shot d’liber’tly at my heart; that’s what happened. Jus’ lifted his six-shooter and shez t’ me, ‘I’ve gotcha faded, Misser Lucas.’ Jus’ like that. And then he pulled the trigger. It was the mean-esht thing I ever beheld. That feller’s a murderer—jus’ a common murderer.”
“A-a-a-a-aw, hell!” snorted Wind River. “You and Horsh-Collar are drunk. Here’s what act’ally happened, gents. Me and Lovely and Horsh-Collar went down to pay our reshpects to Roarin’ Rigby. We was jus’ as innochent as a unborn sheep—three of ’em. Hartley and Stevens was there with Roarin’, you shee. Well, they mus’ ’a’ thought we was makin’ an attack, because they armed themshelves with Winchester rifles, you shee. And when we came in, p’lite as hell, and shed good-afternoon, they opened fire on us, jus’ like that. Bing! Bang! Boom! Bim!”