“I don’t know. He’s been out to the Double Bar 8 to see ’em, and when he came back he met Al Porter here. They had a few shots of hooch, and Goode told Al all about ’em. The more drinks he took, the more he told. After Al went away, Barnhardt came in, and Goode told it all over again. When Barnhardt went out, I was the victim. You’re lucky he went to sleep.”
“I suppose I am,” laughed Le Moyne. “It appears that the Double Bar 8 is well taken care of right now. Did any one find out who shot that tenderfoot kid the other night?”
“Never tried to, I reckon. The kid went back to the AK.”
“He’s over at the Taylor place now.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Oh, sure; I heard that too. You heard about somebody takin’ a shot at the gang at the Double Bar 8, didn’t yuh?”
Le Moyne hadn’t; so the bartender told him what he had heard Goode tell Barnhardt. It was interesting to Le Moyne, inasmuch as the bullet nearly struck Marion.
“That sure beats ——!” snorted Le Moyne. “What kind of a country is this getting to be? I wonder,” he squinted thoughtfully, “if that shot was fired at Legg, the tenderfoot?”
“Might have been. What’ll yuh have, Chet?”