“What we need is a sheriff who can arrest and hold a man,” he said. “Slim’s all right in his way, but he don’t weigh enough. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Langley laughed with him.
“Slim’s got a feller workin’ with him who’s jist a little skinnier than Slim,” laughed Langley.
“Oh, that Hartley person. Don’t look like much, does he, Jim? But lemme tell yuh somethin’.” Butch grew very confidential. “Slim says this feller is a wonder as a detective. Accordin’ to Slim, this Hartley’s got a nose that can smell out crime like a bloodhound follerin’ boot-tracks in the snow.”
“Is he a detective?” asked Langley.
“And then some, accordin’ to Slim.”
“Well,” said Langley seriously, “yuh never can tell much about a man, lookin’ at him from the outside. But Slim is goin’ to need more than a thin-faced puncher to clear up all this mess.”
“That’s true. Say, have yuh seen anythin’ of Angel lately?”
“He’s workin’ for me,” laughed Langley. “Quite a drop, eh? Well, he was kinda sour on the world, Butch, and jist for fun I offered him a job. He’s busted, he says. Old Rance cleaned him out that night, I reckon. He’s a good puncher. For some reason he’s sore at Slim.”
“On account of that girl,” said Butch. “They’re both stuck on her.”