“There was six of us done it,” says Yuma. “It sure is one good job. By golly, nobody will know yuh, that’s a cinch. Haw-haw-haw-haw!”
I got off that bed, intendin’ to maul somebody; but Yuma pulled his gun and backed me onto the bed again.
“The worst is over, Ike,” says he. “Be docile and gain great fame for yourself—you and Dirty.”
“We better be goin’,” opines Wick. “The crowd is anxious for us to get started. C’om, you East Injuns.”
“East Injuns?” says I. “Is that what we look like?”
“Accordin’ to the book,” nods Yuma. “C’mon.”
What could we do, I ask yuh? We went out with them, wearin’ bandaged heads, house-paint and mother-hubbards. That paint is beginnin’ to dry on my face, and the turpentine stings like a lot of bees. I opened my mouth and I can’t get it shut.
“H’rah for —!” wails Dirty. “Who’s ’fraid of fire?”
We follers ’em up to the corner of Holt’s hotel, and there we finds Gunga Din and Sahara, which are bein’ held by Pete Gonyer, Olaf Hansen, Hassayampa Harris, Scenery Sims and “Half-Mile” Smith.
“Gunga Din is broke to ride,” stated Hassayampa, “but I dunno about Sahara. Ike can ride the elephant, ’cause he’s the biggest, and Dirty Shirt can mount the camel.”