“I had an idea that Hagen and Blue might ’a’ stopped and took a shot at Lonesome Lee; but they wouldn’t ’a’ had time to circle back and still go through Caldwell much ahead of us. I was also kinda anxious to find out how many men Blue was goin’ to bring back with him.”
“—— of a lot of good that’ll do us,” complained Sleepy, “except to know that we died fightin’. I’m sure ready and willin’ to pull out of Lodge-Pole county.”
They found Lonesome and Skelton discussing cattle over their pipes. Lonesome was not much the worse for his wound. Skelton had used up every available rag on the ranch to check the bleeding, and Lonesome’s head looked like a turban.
“What kind of a bunch are workin’ on the 88?” asked Hashknife abruptly.
“What kind?” Lonesome cogitated deeply.
“Not much good, I reckon. None of my old gang are there.”
“Easton fired ’em, eh?”
Lonesome nodded slowly and wearily.
“I reckon so. He got a bunch from Arizona. I dunno anythin’ wrong about any of ’em, but I know I wouldn’t want that kind of punchers working for me. A feller by the name of Dell Blackwood is his foreman and he——”
“That’s a plenty,” interrupted Hashknife. “I know that horse-thief. Me and him worked on the Hashknife outfit and I know him from the belt both ways. Betcha he’s got ‘Holy Moses’ Herman workin’ for him.”