Jackson grabbed a can of corn as it
jarred off the shelf behind him and directed a pleasing phrase after the
peevish Barr.
"Say, won't somebody please smile?" gravely asked Edwards. "I never saw
such a happy, cheerful bunch before."
"I might smile if I wasn't so blamed hungry," retorted Johnny. "Doesn't
anybody ever eat in this town?" he asked in great sarcasm. "Mebby a good
feed won't do me no good, but I'm going to fill myself regardless. An'
after that, if the grub don't shock me to death, I'm shore going to trim
somebody at Ol' Sledge--for two bits a hand."
"If I could play you enough hands at that price I could sell out an'
live high without working," grinned Jackson, preparing to give the
reckless invalid all he could eat. "That's purty high, Kid; but I just
feel real devilish, an' I'm coming in."
"An' I'll go over to my shack, get some money, an' bust the pair of
you," laughed Edwards, again buttoning his coat and going towards
the door. "Holy Cats! A log must 'a' got jammed in the sluice-gate
up there," he muttered, scowling at the black sky. "It's coming down
harder'n ever, but here goes," and he stepped quickly into the storm.
Jackson paused with a frying pan in his hands and looked through
the window after the departing marshal, and saw him stagger, stumble
forward, then jerk out his guns and begin firing.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215