“Quite an honor,” laughed Hashknife, as they spurred down the road. “First time we ever had ’em all callin’ on us, cowboy.”
“If you can see a joke in it, —— knows I can’t,” grumbled Sleepy. “A big audience ain’t goin’ to bring no joy to my soul when I’m standin’ on nothin’, and lookin’ up a rope.”
They stabled their horses and raced for the house. Skelton met them with an unspoken question, but Hashknife only laughed and shut the door softly on the four wires.
“Lemme do the talkin’,” he said, “and don’t start no gun-play until I bust loose.”
“Here they come!” exclaimed Sleepy, peering out of a rear window. “By cripes! They’re surroundin’ the place this time!”
“Wish ’em joy, Sleepy,” chuckled Hashknife, licking the edge of a fresh cigaret.
“Skelton, you keep that danged riot-gun under control, will you. There’s a lot of decent folks in that mob, and that thing scatters.”
Beyond a doubt this time Jake Blue was prepared to make good. He had at least fifty men in his posse, fifty hard-bitten cattlemen, who were determined to help him uphold the law. Easton’s tale of the kidnaping had been substantiated by the stable-man, at Gunsight.
The reported murder of Lonesome Lee did not stir them up, as did the kidnaping, but showed a clear incentive for the murder. Spot Easton had felt perfectly safe in elaborating his story considerably. He had spoken at length on the graveyard question, which was still warm in the minds of those who had friends or relatives buried there, and it appeared that Skelton was in danger of sharing punishment with Hashknife and Sleepy.