“How’d yuh get there?” I asks.
“Sittin’ down, yuh —— fool!”
“Oh,” says Windy, taking a few deep breaths, “I’m all worn off from my belt to my knees. Who is shootin’ at us, I’d love to ask?”
Then we seen the flash of the next shot and the bullet threw dust into my face. I reckon our six-shooters cracked at the same time and then we fell all over each other trying to change positions. I bumped into Hashknife and we both fell over Windy.
“Don’t get excited,” begs Hashknife.
“That —— fool up there couldn’t hit us with a shotgun—unless it was a mistake.”
“Mistakes has killed a lot of good men,” wails Windy. “I don’t want to be no accidental corpse. Let’s go and find Mary Jane Haley. We’re wastin’ a lot of good time, don’t yuh know it? Come on.”
“Well, who is shooting at us?” I asks. “Hashknife Hartley, if yuh know, tell us, will yuh?”
“Merely a surmise, Sleepy, but I think I’m right. Felt all along that I had the answer, but I wasn’t sure until tonight.”
“Fine!” grunts Windy. “Go ahead and tell us.”