“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Pinch Johnson. “I’d admire to see you do it, stranger.”
Mr. Blue’s face did not belie his name, except that it went purple from the added flood of red. He opened his mouth, as though a ready retort burned his tongue, then he shut his jaws tightly and turned to the doctor—
“When’ll you hold a inquest, Doc?”
“T’morrow, I reckon,” said the doctor, rubbing his bald head with a rotary motion, as if polishing it. “Take that long to git evidence, won’t it?”
Blue nodded and turned to Hashknife—
“You two fellers ain’t aimin’ to pull out soon, are you?”
Hashknife shook his head.
“No-o-o. We’re plumb stuck on your town.”
Blue grunted his unbelief. He might be ignorant, but not a fool.
“You ain’t got no puncher now, have you, Skelton?”