Hashknife smiled softly over his cigaret.
“I haven’t seen her, Sleepy. Regan says she’s as pretty as a picture. She stuck Regan and one of the cowboys up with a shotgun and took away their guns last night.”
“Um-m-m-m-ha-a-ah!” grunted Sleepy. “Beauty is as beauty does. I’ll say she ain’t no frail lily. And it’s her brother they’ve got in jail, eh?”
“And the sheriff is also in love with her,” smiled Hashknife. “I dunno how many others. And her old man sits on the porch with a great big .45-70 Winchester in his hands and swears he’ll kill the first man that shows up on his land.”
Sleepy stretched wearily and threw away his cigaret.
“I shore didn’t sleep much last night. Every time I turned over I knocked the bartender out of bed, and every time he turned over he knocked me out. I ate more cheese, crackers and salmon for supper, salmon, cheese and crackers for breakfast, and I ain’t had no dinner today. Let’s put on a feed-bag.”
They went to a restaurant next door to the Black Horse Saloon, where they found Roaring Rigby and Wind River Jim, sitting at a table with Jimmy Moran. Roaring waved a fork at them, inviting them to sit at his table. He introduced Hashknife, after which Hashknife introduced Sleepy to all of them.
“This is Frank Moran’s son,” explained Roaring. “Owns the Stumblin’ K, and is master of his own soul, ain’tcha, Jimmy?”
“To my own sorrow most of the time,” grinned Jimmy. “Dad probably painted a scarlet picture of me, didn’t he?”
“He said outside of bein’ a proper damn fool, you was all right,” replied Hashknife seriously.