“Hello yoreself. Jest set where yuh be till we looks yuh over a spell. Keep the little ’un covered with the shotgun, Ma.”
“I’ll make a sieve outa him if he makes ary move, Hank. ’Tend to the big feller. Know either of ’em?”
“Nope. Light’s too dim yet tuh read the brands on their hosses but ain’t that paint hoss the LF hoss we seen in town last week?”
“—— a’mighty, Tad,” groaned Shorty in an uneasy voice. “Start a talkin’ afore we’re killed complete.”
“We’re plum peaceful, mister,” called Tad. “That’s a LF hoss and so is the others, but hold yore fire. We come here tuh——”
“To finish robbin’ honest folks, eh?” snapped a feminine voice that carried the sharp edge of a newly whetted knife. “LF men, eh? Come to do the dirty work of that pole cat, Luther Fox! Gun toters, by the looks of yuh. You seen the sign on the cottonwood?”
“Yes’m, but we ain’t——”
“Shetup! Quit interruptin’ a lady. Hank, watch that big gent, he’s got a mean eye. Dim as the light is, I kin see it. You there, little feller, keep them hands where they belongs. There’s eighteen buckshot in both these barrels and I’m takin’ a rest across this boulder. Come to git them cattle that’s due Fox?”
“Yes’m. But we ain’t cravin’ no trouble ma’am, leastways, not with women-folks. Joe Kipp, the sheriff, ’lowed that we should come.”
“Huh!” snorted the hidden lady. “And what under the sun and seven stars has that old sage hen got to say about it? If Kipp had the gumption of a rabbit, he’d run the hull LF pack outa the country. He’s stood by like a lump on a log and seen a pore ol’ couple git robbed uh their eye teeth, and never once raised a finger to stop it. He don’t dast set foot on the place, he’s that ashamed uh hisself fer——”