“Mary Sunshine!” called Sleepy. “Can I have a drink of water?”
Sunshine told him in plain profanity where he could go and get water.
“Got a mean disposition, ain’t yuh?” laughed Sleepy. “What are you so sore about? Did you get hurt?”
“Well, I got kicked in the ankle, and it’s all black-and-blue.”
“Oh, excuse me,” said Sleepy seriously. “I didn’t mean to kick you, Sunshine.”
“Well,” said Sunshine doubtfully, “I dunno whether yuh meant to do it, but yuh sure done it real good.”
He got up and limped into the rear, where he got a cup of water. He carried the oil lamp with him to the cell door and handed the cup to Sleepy. But it was not a hand that reached for the cup—it was the barrel of a big six-shooter that shoved out through the bars and almost punched Sunshine in the waist.
“Now,” said Sleepy, “you open this door and be —— quick.”
“Uh?”
Sunshine almost dropped the lamp. He did drop the cup, which clattered on the floor inside the cell.