“⸺, 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.
Sleepy released his jaw long enough to buckle on his own armament, and swung the bag over his shoulder and they went out into the night. The train crew had left the caboose steps as the two cowboys swung down off the fill and stumbled their way to the barb-wire fence of the right-of-way.
“Blacker ’n the inside of a cat,” declared Sleepy, after they were away from the lights of the train. “Look out yuh don’t fall off the river bank.”
“It shore is kinda vague,” said Hashknife. “Jist take it easy.”
“Ain’t nobody breakin’ into a gallop,” retorted Sleepy.