“That’s a pretty honest statement, ain’t it, Butch?”
“I know when I’m whipped, Marsh; but that kid don’t. I can take care of myself, and when I get whipped, I’ll admit it. I don’t say he could ever do it again, but I won’t bet he couldn’t. Anyway, I’m not squawkin’ for myself.”
“I’ll speak to Alden in the morning, Butch.”
“Speak, hell! Take a neck-yoke.”
Marsh smiled grimly. “I’m not in the habit of using a neck-yoke, Butch. The boy is just a little wild, that’s all.”
“Yeah, and he drinks too much, talks too much, and he’s too previous with a gun. He thinks he’s a little tin god. Don’t take my word for it, Marsh; ask the rest of the gang. I’ve got as forked a bunch as ever bunked together, and they’ll tell you that yore kid is a bad man and a damned fool, all wrapped in one package.”
“He will outgrow it, Butch.”
“Jist like a cow outgrows her horns. Hey, Chihuahua, you slant-eyed jughead! Food. Nutrimiento pronto; sabe?”
“Can do,” grinned the Chinaman.
“You look as though you’d been in a wreck,” observed Butch to Marsh.