Hashknife walked away from Sleepy and stopped beside the corral fence, only a few feet away.
The Navajo rug was not on the fence.
‘It was there when we came in this evenin’,’ said Sleepy. ‘I remember seein’ it, Hashknife.’
‘I remember it, too, Sleepy. Let’s go to bed.’
‘I used some raw meat on my eyes,’ offered Sleepy. ‘I can see clearer than I could.’
‘I can see better now, too,’ said Hashknife, meaningly. But Sleepy did not question him.
CHAPTER XVI: HASHKNIFE SINGS A SONG
Joe Cave, deputy sheriff, was very drunk. He leaned on a saloon bar in Cañonville, and gazed gloomily about the place, where only a bartender polished glassware, and a swamper busied himself with mop and water-bucket.
It was too early in the morning for much activity. In fact, it was rather out of the ordinary for any one to be drunk that early in the morning. Joe’s tow-colored hair had not been brushed, and he looked as though he had slept in his clothes. His thin lips parted over his prominent front teeth, known as ‘buck-teeth,’ as he indulged in a foolish grin.
‘Whazzamatter ’round here?’ he demanded.