Hashknife locked a long forefinger around his spoon and fended it away from his right eye, while he sipped thoughtfully at his cup of coffee. Finally he nodded slowly.
“Yeah, that’s true, Skelton. Whisky does pe-culiar things to a man’s nerves; but why does ol’ Lonesome go hippety-hoppin’ like a scared rabbit when he sees that danged letter?”
Skelton helped himself to more coffee from the old battered pot and reached for Sleepy’s cup.
“Not any more, Bliz,” said Sleepy. “You ought to grind that coffee before and after makin’, ’cause she’s sure hard to chew.”
“Lonesome Lee’s sure in tough shape,” admitted Skelton, ignoring Sleepy’s insult to his ability as a coffee maker.
Hashknife took the letter from his pocket and studied it closely.
“Steam,” said Sleepy slowly. “Steam’ll cut the stickum on an envelop.”
Hashknife squinted hard at Sleepy.
“That’s a crooked thought, Mister Stevens. Sometimes you surprize me.”
“You say that Spot Easton wanted the letter?” asked Skelton.