“Me.”
“Oh!” grunts Hashknife. “They was all shoo tin’ at you?”
“All except ‘Snag’ Thorn—thankin’ him very kindly.”
“Good shot?”
“Ve-e-e-ry good. Yuh see, it was his pa that got a one-way ticket to ——, and sonny feels bad. Danged bunch of cow-thieves! I reckon they aimed to wipe out the Circle Dot, but li’l bow-legs was too fast. I’m foreman of the Circle Dot, Hashknife.
“Yep. Foreman, cow-hands, cook, and chambermaid. Me and old Mike run the place fine, in spite of him crabbin’ all the time. Poor old devil. Tough? Mm-m-m! Blazer Thorn heezed five .45’s into him but he hung on to the bar and emptied his gun into Blazer. Betcha that saloon looks be-yutiful inside.”
“What was you doin’?” asks Hashknife.
“Me? Aw, I couldn’t help Mike none and then my thoughts turned to the old man Woods’ li’l bow-legged offspring, and I picked up one of the Bar 20 punchers in my arms and packed him plumb to the door, while I backs out.
“Then I kicks him in the seat of the pants, rakes the saloon with me gun, and humped into that wagon-box. Nobody knowed where I went until you sent me a message to get out of there, and then them Bar 20’s are so flustered that they missed me somethin’ rediculous.”
“Better keep your head down,” advises Hashknife, when Windy peeks over the edge.