“The girls were scared stiff,” he said. “One of them bullets busted the window on this side, and some of the others hit the house. They want me to sleep in the ranch-house.”
“I’ll bet that makes yuh sore,” grinned Sleepy.
“Aw, jist put some horse-liniment on it and I’ll head for home,” said Slim. “It don’t hurt much.”
“Yo’re not goin’ home tonight,” declared Hashknife. “This is no night for a tall jigger like you to be ridin’. Shuck off yore raiment and pile into Honey’s bunk while me and Sleepy unsaddle yore bronc.”
Slim’s protests were very feeble.
“Curt Bellew will swear I got drunk and forgot to come home.”
“We’ll be yore alibi, Slim,” assured Hashknife. “And more than that, I’m goin’ to need yuh tomorrow.”
“Well, all right. Go kinda tender on that pinnacle, cowboy. She’s shore a blood-brother to a boil.”
Hashknife fixed up Slim’s head and then went up to the ranch-house, where he called Honey outside.
“We won’t be here for breakfast,” he told Honey. “Me and Sleepy and Slim are goin’ to take a ride early in the mornin’; sabe? They’re holdin’ that inquest at two o’clock in the afternoon. You hitch up the buggy team in the mornin’ and take the girls to town. Tell ’em I said for ’em to go, Honey. Be there for the inquest.”