“Yeah, you’d sure looked fine doin’ a high-dive with a short shotgun in your hands, wouldn’t yuh? Prob’ly shot yourself and me, too.”
“Who knew you was goin’ to carry the payroll?”
“Not a danged soul. I hope Barney won’t be put out about it. “I suppose I should ’a’ sent it by stage, with half a dozen guards—but I didn’t. No-o-o, I got real smart and tried to take it in for myself, thinkin’ that nobody would think that I had the danged stuff. Too ed much thinkin’, tha’sall.”
It was almost four o’clock when Harp began to get back to normal. Whisky had only made him feel his troubles more keenly. He left Slim arguing with the bartender and started back toward the office. He was not on exactly an even keel and his vision was slightly impaired.
As a result he almost ran into Mrs. Wesson, who was coming out of the store, carrying some groceries.
“How doo-o-o,” he said thickly.
“Hello, Harp,” she smiled. “Did you see Miss Miller?”
Harp scratched his head and gawped at her.
“Shee Miss Miller? Whaffor?”