“Yo’ like some ham-egg?” he asked.
Hashknife grinned at him, but did not reply. A smile slowly stole across the Chinaman’s face and he bobbed his head.
“Yessa, velly good,” he said. “No tlouble.”
“You kinda got the Injun sign on Wong Lee,” grunted Honey. “Darned old rascal almost laughed. I tell yuh, he ain’t even smiled since Jim Wheeler was killed.”
“Thasso?” Hashknife borrowed Sleepy’s tobacco and rolled a cigarette. “What happened to Jim Wheeler?”
“Horse dragged him to death the other day.”
Hashknife shuddered. The thought of a man’s hanging by one foot to a stirrup never failed to rasp his nerves. He had seen men die that way, and once when he was but a youngster he had been thrown from a wild horse and had hung from a stirrup. Luckily the horse had whirled into a fence corner, where another cowboy was able to hold the animal and extricate Hashknife.
“Tough way to die,” said Hashknife.
“Y’betcha,” nodded Honey. “Head all busted up on the rocks, and his leg twisted. Golly, it shore was awful! He owned this HJ outfit. I work for the Flyin’ H, but I’m down here kinda helpin’ out. Hozie, Jim’s brother, owns the Flyin’ H.”
“Miss Wheeler is Jim’s daughter, eh?”