“Who’s this Hagen?” asked Hashknife.
“I dunno him. He’s been with the 88 f’r a while, but he quit, or got fired or somethin’.”
“Who owns the 88?”
“Lonesome Lee used t’ own it, but he drank it mostly all up, I reckon. Mebbe Spot Easton owns it by now. Lonesome got t’ drinkin’ and playin’ poker, and I reckon he’s lost all the money he ever had. He stays at the ranch—when he ain’t drunk—which ain’t often.”
“Big outfit?” asked Hashknife.
“Bigger’n mine,” answered Skelton.
“With two top-hands your ranch ought to grow,” stated Hashknife seriously. “You don’t mind us hirin’ out to you?”
“I dunno where your pay’s comin’ from, but I don’t mind, if you don’t. Want to go back to the ranch now?”
Hashknife shook his head.
“No-o-o. You see I knocked Spot Easton loose from the floor a while ago, and if we left now it would look like I was runnin’ away.”