“I was at the desk,” he told them. “There was a noise outside near the door, so I went to see what it was. And then somethin’ hit me, I guess. Gimme another dr-r-ink, Chuck.”
Slim sighed and looked inquiringly at Hashknife, who was sitting on a corner of the desk, squinting thoughtfully.
“What do yuh make of it, Hashknife?”
Hashknife shrugged his shoulders.
“Chuckwalla Ike!” exclaimed Chuck. “By God, he kept his word!”
“Looks like it,” agreed Slim slowly. “You better go with Scotty to the doctor’s place and get that head all fixed up. Can yuh walk, Scotty?”
“I don’t walk on me head,” retorted Scotty. “I’ll be all right, Slim. I might have it looked into, though.”
“Judgin’ from your looks, it’ll be easy to look into,” grinned Chuck. “C’mon, old Painted Face.”
“And when yuh come back, stick around the office,” ordered Slim. “I’m goin’ out to the Circle Spade.”
“And we’ll go along,” said Hashknife, after the two men had departed. “This makes me kinda curious.”