“You got any relations, Skelton?”
“Not a danged kin,” grinned Skelton. “One of my kind is e-nough, ain’t it?”
“’F you got killed,” suggested Hashkinfe, “who’d get this ranch?”
Skelton scratched his head violently.
“Never thought of that, Hartley. Why, I reckon the sheriff would sell it to the highest bidder. But who would bid on it—I dunno.
“Shucks!” Skelton added. “It must be somethin’ pers’nal. Nobody’d kill me to get a chance to buy this —— ranch. That ain’t reasonable.”
“Human nature is a queer thing,” said Hashknife. “I knowed a feller who was sent to the penitentiary for stealin’ Christmas presents, which were goin’ to be given to him.”
“Why didn’t you add the fact that he knowed it?”
“I know when to quit lyin’,” said Hashknife gravely.
He got to his feet, went to the door, and peered out.