“Did your rifle have any mark on it, Skelton?”
“I dunno. I sure as —— couldn’t identify it.”
“Thassall right then,” grinned Hashknife. “Me and Sleepy examined ’em all before we sunk ’em in the crick—they all looked alike to us.”
Skelton scratched his head violently and squinted at Hashknife.
“You—uh—oh ——, yes! I know what you mean now. Top-hands, y’betcha—yes sir.”
Skelton went into the house and in a few moments he was busy with biscuit-dough, while Sleepy and Hashknife humped up on the steps and manufactured cigarets.
“Thirty miles to Gunsight,” observed Hashknife. “Right pretty little ride.”
“Yeah, it is,” admitted Sleepy.
“She sure is, Sleepy; nice li’l ride. We’ll saddle up as soon as we folds the stummick around a little provender.”
“Saddle up?” queried Sleepy. “You ain’t——”