“Zasso? Lemme tell yuh I’m the sheriff around here and I——”
The sheriff took hold of Hashknife’s left arm, like he was goin’ to stop him, and I said a short prayer for Mister Allen. Hashknife had that Winchester in his left hand, and it looked like the sheriff was goin’ to try to take hold of it, but Hashknife’s right fist hooked him under the chin and he lit on the back of his neck in the corner of his office and stayed there.
“He-he’s goin’ to be sore as ——,” states Bowers, awed-like.
“Little liniment will fix him,” says Hashknife. “Come on, boys.”
We went out of that town like bats out of —— and we never broke a running lope until we hit the ranch. Mary Jane ain’t there. Sing Lee says he ain’t seen her.
“What will we do now?” asks Windy, but Hashknife whirls his bronc around and we follers him. We sailed out of the gate and hit straight for the hills.
“You aimin’ to hit the Bar 20?” yells Windy.
“Just like a ton of lead,” says Hashknife. We tore across the dead-line, and never slowed up until the Bar 20 ranch-house is in sight.
“Don’t shoot until yuh has to,” advises Hashknife.