“Aw, let a man be, Ox,” grinned Shorty, buttering his fourth biscuit. “If yuh gotta run off at the head, tell about the time that Hash-Knife hoss crow hopped with yuh and yore set uh store teeth swapped ends and like tuh bit yore tongue off. Only for the hoss a-pilin’ yuh into the sourdough pan, you’d uh gone through life without a tongue. Yuh mind, Taddie, how that kettle-paunched ol’ cook run yuh outa camp fer sp’ilin’ his batch uh bread dough? He’d uh whittled yuh down tuh his size and whupped yuh, too, only I tripped him up. There’s times when I wisht I’d let that ol’ grub sp’iler ketch yuh.”
A shadow passed the window. The grin on Kipp’s face vanished.
“Here comes Fox,” he whispered. “Play yore cards keerful, boys. Yuh whupped the best man he has in camp, Shorty. And he’s done heard how Tad stood off his gang uh tough men with a empty gun. Down in that black heart uh hisn, he respects nerve like yourn. He may put yuh some kind of a proposition. Better consider keerful afore yuh turn it down.
“He’s got yuh in a tight. He owns that saloon and the busted window. Fact is, he owns the camp. Reckon I’d better let him in now. He’s poundin’ out yonder fit tuh bust the door down.”
With a faint, uneasy smile, Kipp rose and unbolted the heavy door.
Luther Fox entered with one long stride. His gimlet eyes were fixed on the remains of the prisoner’s sumptuous dinner.
“Fancy victuals that you give your prisoners, Kipp,” he spoke in a rasping, flat voice. “County payin’ for such grub?” Kipp’s eyes took on a chilly look.
“I paid the chink outa my own pocket, Fox.”
Luther Fox’s thin lips twitched at the corners. It may have been meant for a smile. Devoid of mirth, it seemed to accentuate the cruelty that lurked behind the pale-gray eyes.
“I want that I should be left alone with these two men, Kipp. Clear out.”