“You heard me; didn’t he Al?” Casey Steil laughed throatily.
“I wasn’t sure,” said Jack. “I’d want to be sure, Steil.”
“Touchy, eh?” Al Curt spat thoughtfully. “Go ahead and tell him what yuh said, Casey.”
“Since when did they start callin’ you by a good Irish name?”
Hashknife spoke softly, but, from the way Steil and Curt whirled to face him, it might have been an explosion.
Curt’s hand had made a motion, as if to reach toward his holster, but the hand and arm seemed paralyzed.
“Well, if it ain’t ‘Wide-loop’ Curt!” exclaimed Hashknife. “Sleepy, c’mere and take a look. Introducin’ Lee Steil and old Wide-loop, Sleepy. Gents, get used to lookin’ at Sleepy Stevens.”
Hashknife’s eyes bored into the faces of the two confused cowboys, while behind him Sleepy laughed joyfully.
“Mamma mine!” he chuckled. “Only two like ’em in captivity, Hashknife. Somebody must have a taste for knickknacks.”
“Couple of soiled souls,” declared Hashknife seriously.