The brakeman came in to light a cigarette and Hashknife questioned him about Pinnacle City.
“South of here is the wagon bridge,” said the brakeman. “I ain’t familiar with this country, so I can’t tell yuh how far it is, but it can’t be a mile—not over that, anyway.”
He went out, and Hashknife turned to Sleepy.
“How about yuh, cowboy? It ain’t over three miles to town. Suppose we walk over and find a dentist?”
“I’d do anythin’ to stop this ache, Hashknife!”
“All right.”
Hashknife went down the car, where he picked up their war-bags and brought them back.
“You ain’t pullin’ out for keeps, are yuh?” asked one of the crap-shooting cowboys.
“Nope,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll meet yuh in Pinnacle City. Only a fool walks away and leaves his war-bag. Yuh never know what’s ahead of yuh.”
He dug down in his bag and drew out a well-worn cartridge-belt to which was attached a scarred holster containing a heavy Colt revolver. He looped the belt around his lean hips, yanked the buckle together and proceeded to fill the cylinder with .45 cartridges.