“That’s tomorrow,” says Hashknife. “What’s the nearest station down the line, Windy?”
“Kelly’s Fork. It’s about six miles, but a train don’t stop there unless she’s flagged.”
“We’ll flag her,” says Hashknife. “We’re going to surprise some of these wise jaspers. Sabe? If we waits for him to come here, everybody will see him, don’t yuh see? That’ll make four of us, Windy, and if this here Haley is hard-boiled we can stand off the Bar 20 or any other cow-stealin’ outfit.”
“Yeah, that’s a hy-iu scheme, Hashknife. We’ll just do that little thing. Train is due along there about noon.”
There’s a lot of Bar 20 broncs at the tie-rack, and Hashknife wants to go over and see what the owners look like, but me and Windy points out the error of his ways and tells him that we’ve got to be intact to meet the new owner of the Circle Dot.
“I reckon it’s right,” admits Hashknife, “but I feels that I’m bein’ hoodled out of town. I’d swap lead with all that bunch, Windy—if they can’t shoot any straighter than they did at you.”
“That hombre that bushwhacked you shot straight enough,” says I.
“Nope. He would have hit me both times.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to hit yuh.”
“Never thought of that, Sleepy. Huh! He’s a wonder at missin’, if he didn’t.”