The Morgan trail

by W. C. Tuttle

‘And you’re goin’ to collect it over the bar, eh?’ queried Dell Bowen.

‘Aw, don’t preach. You spent part of yours last night.’

‘What about a trail into Coyote Cañon?’ asked Morgan.

‘I’d like to go down there,’ replied Hashknife.

‘You think there’s somethin’ down there?’ asked Spike.

‘About a hundred buzzards,’ smiled Sleepy, accepting a glass from the bartender.

‘Buzzards, eh? Somethin’ dead, eh?’

‘No, they go down there to eat brush,’ said Bert sarcastically.

‘My Gawd, you’re comical,’ said Spike admiringly. ‘The only thing that keeps yuh off the stage is the fact that yuh can’t drive, and they wouldn’t trust yuh with the money-box.’

‘Nobody interested in yore comedy, Spike,’ assured Bowen. ‘We want to know more about Coyote Cañon. Hartley, are yuh serious in wantin’ to go down there?’