“Yes,”
“Uh-hah!”
“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Johnny.
“Aw, let’s go and get a drink,” suggested Oyster. “Jimmy is all right. How about yuh, Jimmy?”
“I’m fine,” replied Jimmy. “Except that my feet don’t track and there’s a ton of rocks on my head—I’m as good as ever.”
They moved out of the hotel and headed for the Oasis, where Jimmy was the center of attraction. Le Moyne and Dug Haley were there. Johnny introduced them to Hashknife and Sleepy, and they all drank to the poor aim of some bushwhacker.
After a few more drinks the AK boys decided to go home. Jimmy’s head was bothering him, and Johnny Grant decided that a bunk was the best place for Jimmy Legg. Before they left, the sheriff and deputy bustled in, having just heard of the shooting, and wanted a detailed account of it.
“Aw, whatsa use?” wailed Eskimo. “Somebody popped Jimmy on the head with a bullet, and that’s all there is to it. Unless petrification sets in, he’ll be able to fall off a horse agin’ tomorrow—as usual. C’mon.”
And the sheriff was obliged to get his information from those who knew as much about it as the AK boys did. He went back to his office with Al Porter, and they sat down to discuss it.
“Well, who do yuh think tried to kill the tenderfoot?” queried Porter.