“High-toned. Yessir, Piperock is gettin’ uppity—part of ’em, and the rest are packin’ two guns per each. Tonight means trouble in that town, y’betcha.”
“Tonight? Why tonight, Mighty?”
“Social affair tonight, that’s why. Two dollars per ticket, and not a gun allowed into the hall. I’ve got a ticket, which I’ll sell yuh.”
“Goin’ to save my money for ca’tridges,” grunts Dirty, and we pilgrims on.
We went right down the street of Piperock, looking neither to the right nor left, and heads straight for Magpie’s cabin. Looking into the open door we sees Magpie bending over the cook-stove, frying meat.
“Klahowya,” says Dirty.
Magpie drops the pan on the floor and whirls with a gun in each hand.
“Dancing makes you jumpy?” I asks.
Magpie shoves his guns back inside the waistband of his pants, kicks the hunk of meat into the skillet and turns back to the stove.
“How’s Miss Harrison?” I asks.