‘That’s right,’ said Sleepy softly. ‘It don’t hurt nobody. Look at that, will yuh?’
Silhouetted against the ranch-house window were two figures, about a foot apart. One figure greatly resembled a blanketed Indian, the other a scarecrow, with rags dangling from its arms, making queer motions.
Sleepy laughed softly. ‘Look at him, will yuh? He’s probably tellin’ her in good English what he’s goin’ to do with the 6X6. Betcha he ain’t even kissed her. Hashknife, that feller is almost dumb enough to make a good cowpuncher.’
Suddenly the figures blended, and Hashknife turned his back as he fumbled for his cigarette papers.
‘Not so dumb,’ he said slowly.
‘Well, that one is over,’ chuckled Sleepy.
‘Good. Now, I can heat some water and soak my blisters.’
They pulled their hats low over their eyes and headed for the kitchen door.
THE END