“No!” Emphatically. “Quinin minded his own business.”
Hashknife lighted his cigaret and looked around the room. It contained a box-stove, a table, littered with cigaret papers, two bunks and a few chairs.
“Me and Quinin lived in here,” said Skelton. “Built our bunks in here so there’d only be one room to clean.”
“What’s the trouble around here?” asked Hashknife suddenly.
Skelton stared at him.
“What trouble?”
“Folks don’t like you, Skelton. Feller don’t get disliked for nothin’. Either you’re wrong, or folks see things wrong. Me and Sleepy are danged good listeners.”
“That’s a fact, Bliz,” nodded Sleepy.
“I’m —— if I know,” admitted Skelton. “I’ve had this ranch about a year and a half and I ain’t made a cent—nor a friend.”
“Mebbe they’re sore about the graveyard,” said Sleepy.