Hashknife spat out a half-burned cigaret and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
“I’m plumb tired of bein’ shot at, Sleepy.”
It was about three miles to Caldwell, and they covered the distance in record speed. At the War-Bonnet hitch-rack they dismounted and went into the big saloon. There was no sign of Jake Blue or Blondy Hagen.
Windy, the bartender, gaped at ths sight of them and upset some glasses on the back-bar with his elbows.
“Seen Jake Blue lately?” asked Hashknife.
“Nope.”
“Where’s Spot Easton?”
“Dunno.”
Hashknife leaned on the bar and studied Windy closely.