“No-o-o-o?” drawled Hashknife. “I hate to call a man a liar.”
“Prob’ly,” dryly. “I hate to be called one, when I’ve got my hands in the air.”
“Sure. Yuh might care to tell me how yuh happen to be right here about this time.”
“Cinch. I’m from the X Bar 6 outfit. Me and Ed Gast was back toward Yaller Horn Mesa today, and when we’re on our way back I decides to ride down to the Double Bar 8. Ed went on to Blue Wells; so I cuts a straight line for here. Satisfied?”
“But not contented,” said Hashknife. “Just why didja want to come to the Double Bar 8? You know —— well the three men from that ranch are in jail at Blue Wells.”
“Oh, I knowed that all right. But I wanted to get a look at the two men who are runnin’ the place.”
“Get a look at ’em, eh?”
Goode grinned widely, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.
“I reckon yo’re one of ’em, stranger. Yuh see, I lived at Black Wells when you and yore pardner cleaned up the Modoc trouble, and I heard a lot about yuh. I’ve always wanted to thank yore pardner for killin’ Jud Mahley. It saved me a ca’tridge.”
Hashknife studied the face of the ex-Black Wells cowboy, but the man seemed sincere.