“Now?” Jack laughed harshly. “I’ve got my war paint on. It’s a showdown from now on. If you hadn’t showed up when you did, I was goin’ to start in on Curt and Steil. I haven’t forgotten the draw. There’s only one man in the country that can beat me, and that is Slim De Larimore.”
“He’s fast, is he?” asked Hashknife.
“Just like a flash. Wears his gun kinda in front of his thigh, carries his hand behind his holster, and his draw is just like lifting his empty hand. I’ve seen some gunmen, but he’s got ’em all beat.”
“Is he a good shot?”
“I don’t know; never seen him shoot. Very likely is though.”
Hashknife smiled seriously and rubbed his nose. It was a sure sign that he was pleased. Sleepy watched him and grinned.
They rode in at the Turkey Track and dismounted. There was no sign of life around the place, except the Chinese cook who answered their knock.
“Hyah, John,” grinned Hashknife pleasantly. “How’s chances for a little food?”
“I do’ no,” replied the Celestial. “Boss no heah.”
“Thassall right. You round up a little food for us.”