“You’re stuck!” exclaimed Hashknife.
Easton jerked his head around and looked square into Hashknife’s face.
“How’s the ear?” asked Hashknife.
The question placed Easton in an embarrassing position. He could not see Hashknife’s right hand, and his own hands were on the bar. Blue squinted past Easton’s shoulder at Hashknife, and Hashknife grinned at him.
Sleepy leaned forward on the bar and craned his neck around Hashknife.
“I hope to die, if I ain’t terror-stricken!” he gasped. “We’ve been told that it’s fash’nable to be plumb scared of Mister Easton; so we turns pale, politely.”
Easton tore his eyes away from Hashknife’s grinning face and looked straight into the back-bar. His mind worked swiftly, but got nowhere. He was being insulted in his own house. Jake Blue leaned away from the bar, as if to move into the crowd, but Sleepy stepped around behind Hashknife and Blue leaned back against the bar.
“Where’s the old man—old Lonesome Lee?” asked Hashknife.
Easton turned quickly.
“What do you want of him?”