“My God!”
He turned and walked over to a window, where he stared out into the night. The room was very quiet.
“We ain’t got much money, Doc,” said Hashknife slowly. “But if you pull him through, I’ll go out and kill anybody you want killed.”
The old doctor lifted his eyes and studied the lean figure at the window.
“All right,” he said finally, “I’ll take you up on that.”
“Name your man, Doc.”
“I can’t do it, Hartley; it’s a man who shoots in the dark.”
“All right, Doc, you’ll get his ears.”
Sunday was a dull day in Turquoise City. Hashknife hardly left Sleepy’s side during the day. Sleepy had regained consciousness and was pretty sick. There was plenty of company. Wind River Jim, his head swathed in bandages, insisted upon playing nurse while Hashknife ate his meals.
“That’s the least I can do,” declared Wind River. “If your old leather beck hadn’t deflected that bullet, it would have hit me between the eyes. And between you and Roarin’, you stopped Horse-Collar from chokin’ me to death.”