“Somebody must ’a’ petted yuh right smart,” was his verdict. “I’ll heat up some water and see if it won’t take some of the swellin’ out of the pinnacle.”
He bustled back to the stove and filled the kettle.
“I lost yuh last night, Rance. Climbed plumb over my bronc, jist tryin’ to get aboard. Mamma, I shore was drunk! A feller of my age ort to be more careful. Did you git here ahead of me?”
“I dunno, Chuckwalla.”
“Well, I don’t. Who hit yuh, Rance?”
Rance blinked slowly, his eyes focussed on the oilcloth covering of the table.
“I dunno.”
“No? You must ’a’ been pretty drunk yoreself. I’m goin’ to put a little vinegar in this water. They say it’s good to pull down a swellin’. Sore, ain’t it? Uh-huh. Looks like it might ’a’ been caused with a six-gun bar’l. I pistol-whipped a feller once, and he was thataway all over. Figurin’ his normal skin as sea-level, I shore gave him altitude.”
“That warm water feels good, Chuckwalla.”
“You must ’a’ got hit hard, Rance.”