“Henry Peck, do you know where my husband is?”
“He—he’s givin’ spiritual advice to a lady,” says Muley.
“I suppose Pete Gonyer is measurin’ her for a pair of horseshoes,” says Mrs. Gonyer, mean-like.
“And maybe Wick is tryin’ to sell her a bill of groceries,” says Mrs. Smith.
“I seen Art curryin’ his horses,” states Mrs. Wheeler. “He ain’t curried one of ’em since he owned them four horses—and he greased his boots this mornin’.”
“Here comes Mrs. Holt,” says Mrs. Steele. “Mebbe she brings news.”
Mrs. Holt was all out of breath, and them women didn’t seem inclined to let her get any of it back. Magpie and Telescope comes out of the saloon and moves in close.
“I hopes to die!” gasps Mrs. Holt. “I hopes to die!”
“You’re got a cinch,” says Telescope. “We all have to.”
Them females gives Telescope one gosh-awful look, and then surrounds Mrs. Holt, who gasps out her story.