“Will you ever learn to keep your danged tongue out of my affairs? Ain’t you got sense enough to let me do the talkin’? Now, that —— old fool will likely talk to everybody and—aw, ——! I hope you and Jake Blue will get your men today. I don’t want Lonesome Lee to talk to Hashknife. It may take a killin’ to prevent it.”
“You don’t let me in on anythin’,” complained Blondy bitterly. “You talk about letters and cattle-brands and the Tombstone ranch, and you never let me know the why of anythin’. All I’m good fer is to bush-whack, somebody.”
“You get paid for it, don’t you?” demanded Easton.
“Yeah, I get paid for it.”
“Then keep your mouth shut, Hagen. The less you know the safer you are—sabe? It’ll pay you to keep still.”
It was about noon when Hashknife and Sleepy woke up. Bliz Skelton was cooking breakfast for them and, though evidently curious, he asked no questions of what happened the night before.
“I went up to Caldwell last night,” he volunteered. “Ain’t been up there at night for a dog’s age, ’cause it wasn’t noways safe for me to be on the road after dark.”
“Any excitement?” yawned Hashknife, as he tugged at a tight boot.
“No-o-o,” Skelton twisted his face away from the spattering bacon. “Doc Clevis offered to buy this ranch again. A few weeks ago he offered me eight thousand, but last night he made it nine. Got kinda ruffed ’cause I wouldn’t take his offer.”