“Some more —— hot-boxes!” he snorted. “Half of the axles on this —— train are on fire. A fine lot of rollin’ stock to ship cows in. Be held up here a couple of hours, I reckon. Take us half an hour to cool ’em off, and then we’ll have to lay out for the regular passenger.”
“What’s the town, pardner?” asked Nebraska.
“Totem City.”
“Let’s all go over and see what she looks like,” suggested Hashknife. “I’ll spend some of my ill-gotten gains.”
“Not me,” declared Nebraska. “In two hours I can be poundin’ my ear.”
“Me, too,” said Stumpy Lee. “I’m goin’ to sleep.”
“How about you, Napoleon Bonaparte?”
Napoleon Deschamps, a fat-faced cowpuncher, who had been trying to read an old magazine, shook his head at Hashknife.
“Bimeby I go sleep too, Hartlee. De town don’ int’rest.”
“Well, Sleepy, we’ll go. And you snake-hunters won’t sleep much after we get back; sabe? C’mon, Sleepy.”