“Kelsey?” Lonnie blinked seriously. “Kelsey? Oh, the sheriff? Lookin’ for us?”
“Whazze want?” asked Nebrasky.
“You better wait and see, Nebrasky.”
“Now that’s what I call shound advice, Harry.”
“I betcha I know what he wants,” said Lonnie. “He wants us to turn him the rest of the way over. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
This guess seemed so good to them that they sagged against the bar and whooped merrily.
Joe Rich, following the announcement of Jim Wheeler’s death, took his horse back to the stable and then went to the store where he had purchased his house furnishings and told the storekeeper to take them back, as there was little chance of their ever being paid for.
When Joe came out he met Angus McLaren, the big grave-faced Scotsman.
“Isn’t it too bad about poor Jim Wheeler!” exclaimed Angus. “I just heard of it, Joe.”
Joe nodded. His nose and lips were still sore from the weight of Jim Wheeler’s fist, and his right hand went involuntarily to his sore spots. McLaren noticed this.