He takes out a piece of paper and a pencil and begins to write. You’ve got to hand it to Muley when it comes to poetry. In about fifteen minutes Magpie, Telescope and Art drifts back, and the three of ’em lines up at the bar.
“Here’s hopin’ he breaks a leg,” says Magpie.
“Or splits a hoof,” adds Art.
“Who yuh wishin’ all such luck to?” asks Hen.
“Chuck Warner,” says Telescope. “He’s—Ma Holt wouldn’t let us in, but we peeked in the winder and seen Chuck dancin’ a war-dance for the lady.”
“I’ll dance for her!” says Muley. “I’ll dance Chuck’s scalp for her. Why won’t Mrs. Holt let anybody in?”
“She’s got her orders,” says old Sam.
Just then “Scenery” Sims, the sheriff, comes in. Scenery is a squeaky little runt, and suspicious of everything and everybody. Magpie gets right up, takes Scenery by the arm and leads him outside.
“Now,” says Telescope, “what kind of a frame-up has Magpie got under his hair?”
We hears Scenery say—