“Well, what do yuh know, cowboy?” queried Sleepy.
“What do I know?” Hashknife grinned wistfully at his smoke. “I know I’ve bit off a darned big chew for one man to masticate.”
“Yeah,” nodded Sleepy, “yuh mostly always do, Hashknife.”
“Uh-huh. Where’s Honey?”
“Settin’ on the front porch with Laura. By golly, if this keeps up I’m goin’ to get me a squaw. You at one end of the place and Honey at the other. While Mister Stevens sets on the bunk-house steps all alone. And he’s the best-lookin’ man on the ranch, too.”
“Who is—Honey?”
“Na-a-aw—Stevens! Honey’s second.”
“And I’m third,” grinned Hashknife.
“Sure,” said Sleepy. “Wong Lee don’t count because he’s a Chinaman.”
“I’m glad one entry is scratched. There goes the sheriff and his hired hand.”