"An' ain't I been telling you all along that it ain't the measly hole
in my shoulder that's got me on the prod?" retorted Johnny, with more
earnestness than politeness. "But why couldn't I go with my friends
after Jerry an' get shot later if I had to get it at all? Look what I'm
missing, roped an' throwed in this cussed ten-by-ten shack while they're
having a little excitement."
"Yo're missing some blamed nasty weather, Kid," replied the marshal.
"You ain't got no kick coming at all. Why, I got soaked clean through
just going down to the Oasis."
"Well, I'm kicking, just the same," snapped Johnny. "An' furthermore, I
don't see nobody big enough to stop me, neither--did you all get that?"
The rear door opened and Fred Neal looked in. "Hey, Barr; come out an'
gimme a hand in the corral. Busted my cinch all to pieces half a mile
out--an' how the devil it ever busted like that is--" the door slammed
shut and softened his monologue.
"Would you listen to that!" snorted Barr in an injured tone. "Didn't I
go an' tell him near a month ago that his cussed cinch wouldn't hold no
better'n a piece of wet paper?" His complaint added materially to the
atmosphere of sullen discontent pervading the room. "An' now I gotter
go out in this rain an'--" the slam of the door surpassed anything yet
attempted in that line of endeavor.
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