“Yep—took the whole —— stock. Never even left a box of .22 shells. Even took a couple boxes of ten gage shotgun shells. And, by gosh, them shells cost money! Yuh can’t buy ca’tridges for nothin’, y’betcha. If I ever find out who took ’em, they’ll sure think they’re at a shivaree.”
It was the following morning that Hork bewailed the loss of his ammunition to Hashknife and Sleepy. It was a blow from which he would never quite recover. Hashknife and Sleepy had crawled out of Sudden Smithy’s stable, washed in the horse trough, and eaten a big breakfast at the restaurant.
Their escape from the cattlemen the night before had not seemed to teach them caution. They had heard Sudden and Sunshine ride away from the stable the night before, and later on they had heard them come back and unsaddle their horses. Sudden had talked about taking a dead man to Doctor Owen, so Hashknife decided that they had been out to Jack Hartwell’s place.
A good sleep and a full meal had put new life into both of the cowboys, and they were ready for anything that Totem City might have to offer them. They had purchased some Durham from Hork, who swore that he was crippled from the loss of the ammunition, and that the profit on two sacks of Durham looked smaller to him than the thin end of nothing, whittled to a point.
“I heard about you two fellers last night,” he told them. “I dunno whether yo’re wise in stayin’ here or not. Sudden don’t quite figure you fellers out, and he said last night that when the gall was passed around, you two must ’a’ been served first.”
“We slept in Sudden’s loft,” grinned Hashknife.
“In his loft? Huh! Well, I reckon Sudden was right. Jimmy Healey was worryin’ around about one of yuh swipin’ his horse from the Totem hitch rack. He howled his head off, until he finds it around on a side street, and everybody swore that Jimmy was so absent-minded that he forgot where he left it.”
A customer came in and engaged the attention of Hork, so Hashknife and Sleepy sauntered back to the front of the store. Two men had just ridden in and were dismounting at a hitch rack across the street. Jack Hartwell came out of the Totem Saloon and started across toward the store. He paid no attention to the two riders who crossed in close behind him.
As Jack reached the sidewalk in front of the store, the two men came up to him, and one of them made an sneering remark. Jack turned quickly and looked at them. They were Casey Steil and Al Curt, of the Turkey Track outfit. Hashknife stepped swiftly out through the open doorway, so softly that Curt and Steil did not hear him.
“Just what did you say, Steil?” asked Jack calmly.