Butch frowned slightly, but answered readily enough: “The Kid pulled out a few days ago. I dunno where he went.”
“I wish I did,” said Hashknife, leaning one elbow on the bar and looking directly at Butch.
“Thasso?” queried Butch. “Why?”
“On account of my gray horse.”
“Yea-a-ah? What about yore gray horse, Hartley?”
“I want him, Reimer. You say yuh don’t know where Kid Glover is, eh?”
“No idea.”
“And yuh didn’t recognize that bay horse, didja?”
“What in hell is this—a guessin’ contest?”
“Right now it is, Reimer. It may change any time.”