“Yuh hadn’t ought to have a gun, Sleepy. Honest to gosh, yuh hadn’t. Next time we’ll give yuh a fish-pole.”
“No,” says Hashknife, sad-like; “no fish-pole, Windy. Give him a toy balloon.”
“He’d likely pinch it and then she’d bust,” objects Windy.
“I couldn’t help it,” says I. “I fell. The gun must ’a’ struck on the hammer. I can’t get my toe loose.”
“Can’t get loose?” grunts Hashknife. “Stuck fast, Sleepy?”
“Tighter ’n a wedge.”
“Fine! Come on, Windy. We’ll leave him where he’ll stay put.”
Know what them two wallopers done? Well, they went away and left me, that’s what they done. After twisting my toe half-off, I discovers that I can lift my foot out of my boot without no trouble, the same of which gives me both hands to unfasten that trapped boot. Then I got my rifle and blunders ahead in the dark about ten minutes behind Hashknife and Windy. I don’t know where they went. I know I must ’a’ been Injuning along pretty skookum, ’cause I almost stumbled over a cougar. Mister Cougar gives one despairing yelp, and fades away among the rocks, while old man Stevens’ son climbed up on a pinnacle of rocks and perspired freely.
Just in below me is a deep cañon, winding around among the rocks. Every danged thing looks kinda blue and silver-like. The moon ain’t climbed up high enough to light up things much, and I lays there in the edge of that pinnacle, trying to assemble enough tobacco to make a cigaret.
All to once I hears the squeak of saddle-leather and I spills the tobacco. I listens some more and hears it again. Then I lays down and peers into the cañon and I sees something. Ghosts! Honest to grandma, I got a bird’s-eye view of two riders, passing along without a sound, and all to once they fades out. They can’t be more than fifty feet below me, and their horses don’t make a sound on that rocky floor.