“My ——!” gasps Hashknife. “Hello, Windy.”
The bow-legged hombre stares at us and then begins to laugh.
“Hashknife Hartley, yuh old son-of-a-gun! Where about in —— did yuh come from?”
“Git down!” yells Hashknife, as the feller starts to come over to us.
“Thank yuh,” says he. “I plumb forgot them or’nery Bar 20 cow-burglars.”
He gets down on his belly and comes angling over to us, and him and Hashknife shakes hands laying down.
“Sleepy, meet Windy Woods. Windy used to be with the Hashknife.”
“Yore bunkie?” asks Windy, pointing at me.
“Yeah. Some human drawback, Windy. I has to tell him when to chaw and kick him when it’s time to spit. I shore has a lot of chores with that pelican.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw! Howdja ever get so far north, Hashknife?”