Jake Blue backed away from Hashknife, masticating rapidly, and his eyes flashed from the wires to the interior of the house, as if trying to see if it was only a bluff.
“Well,” said Hashknife grimly, “we’re all together, it seems.”
“Do you think you can git away with this?”
Blue’s voice was thin as a high violin note. Some one in the crowd laughed. Blue’s nose resembled a beet, and one eye was almost swollen shut.
“I kinda thought I would,” said Hashknife as he looked around at the crowd.
“Well, well! There’s Mister Easton and Mister Hagen. And there’s my old friend, Doc Clevis. I was afraid they’d disappoint me. If there ain’t Dell Blackwood! My, my! The devil must be gittin’ a laugh out of this.”
Those indicated shifted nervously. They had no idea of what was to come next, but they were afraid to force the issue. Hashknife singled out a respectable-looking cowman and spoke directly to him:
“Pardner, you look honest to me. Talk a little, will you?”
“Sure will.”
The man cleared his throat.