“A roan.”
“Oh, that old jug-head! I’ve been tellin’ Sudden that the old roan was dead, but wouldn’t lay down. What was it all about?”
Hashknife described how the sheriff had loaned them the two horses to ride after the train, and of what happened later. Sunshine gawped widely at the recital. He was still a trifle hazy from his potations, but most of it percolated through his brain.
“Well, that’s what I call a —— of a note!” he declared. “Mistook yuh for sheepherders, eh?”
“Very likely,” dryly.
“Still—” Sunshine scratched his touseled head—“they hadn’t ought to do that either. You was horseback, wasn’t yuh? Uh-huh. And it was dark, too. Come to think of it, it looks danged queer. How did they act?”
“Awful.”
“Oh yeah. Sudden know about it?”
“About all there is to know, Sunshine.”
Sunshine thought it over for a while, or tried to. Then he reached for his boots and drew them on.