I looks across the room and sees another jigger of the same brand. Then I starts to get out of bed, intendin’ to head for the door and this second dirty-faced thing moves right along with me. I’ve been lookin’ in a mirror. Then I lifts one hand to my face, and it comes away the color of chocolate. There’s a strong odor of turpentine in the place.
“What in — has been happenin’?” I asks.
“Are you Ike Harper?” he asks, kinda awed-like.
“If that’s a mirror, I ain’t,” says I. “Who are you?”
“I used to be Dirty Shirt Jones.”
I starts to scratch my head and finds it all wrapped up in cloth.
“Did we get hurt, or somethin’?” I asks.
Before he can answer me, Wick Smith, Yuma Yates and Mighty Jones come in. They looks us over, and Wick Smith says—
“Thank gosh, they’re sober enough to ride.”
“Who done this to us?” asks Dirty. “I’ll kill the man that painted me thisaway!”