“We don’t know who it was nor what it was about. A feller took a shot at us when we was goin’ over to the sidin’, and when we came back there was three or four of ’em bushwhacked us just this side of the river. I dunno how we escaped. My gosh, they were so close that the powder burned my bronc’s nose.”
“I got a furrow along my forearm,” said Sleepy grimacing, as he pulled the sleeve away. “But it won’t bother much. Kinda made the old arm feel like it was asleep.”
“But what did they shoot at yuh for?” demanded Jack.
“You answer it,” replied Hashknife quickly. “We don’t know anybody around here. We borrowed the horses from the sheriff, and he’ll likely blow up when he hears that one of ’em has been shot.”
“Keep away from that door,” advised Sleepy, as Jack started toward it. “Them pelicans don’t need to recognize yuh.”
“It sure beats me,” declared Jack.
“Does it?” queried Haskhnife seriously. “Everythin’ around here beats us, pardner. We ain’t been here long, but we’ve sure found out that Lo Lo Valley is a dinger of a place to entertain a stranger. What’s wrong around here?”
“Everythin’,” said Jack bitterly.
“Sheep and cattle war?”
“Yeah.”