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When he came back he fell in on Foy's left; at Foy's right Creagan leaned his elbows on the bar. "Well, I'm obliged to you, boys," said Foy. "This one's on me. Come on, Joe have a hoot." "Thanks, no," said Espalin. "I not dreenkin' none thees times. Eef I dreenk some I get full, and loose my job maybe." "Vichy," said Foy. "Take something yourself, Max." As Mr.
See, here comes some more pussy-foot posse three, six, eleven hungry men. Have they got Foy? No; they have not got Foy. Is he up? He is up. Look who's here too! Good old Applegate and Brother Espalin. I wonder now if they're goin' to give me the cut direct, like Creagan did? You notice, Mr. Breslin." The horsemen rode into the corral. "No; don't go, Sheriff," said Anastacio.
In a few minutes he was back, rather breathless and extremely agitated in appearance. "Well? Spill it!" said Nueces. "Get your breath first. What's the trouble?" "Applegate's dead. Joe Espalin, I arrest you for the murder of Richard Marr! Applegate confessed!" "He lied! He lied!" screamed Espalin. "I was with Ben till daylight, at the monte game; they all tell you.
They're here at the Gadsden Purchase. Bell Applegate is sick seems to be indigestion; Espalin is having a nervous spell; and Ben Creagan is bleeding from his happiest vein. You'd better come see to 'em. Good-by!" Pringle smiled benevolently from the door. "There! I almost forgot to tell you boys. We disapprove of your actions oh-very-much!
Espalin gathered that Pringle desired no outcry and shunned observation; he sat motionless accordingly; he felt a hand at his belt, which removed his gun. "Happy days!" said Foy, and raised his glass to his lips. Creagan seized the uplifted wrist with both hands, Applegate pounced on the other arm. Pringle leaped through the doorway. But something happened swifter than Pringle's swift rush.
Even the scorn of Espalin and Creagan had left him unabashed, but now he winced visibly; and, for once, he had no reply to make. Foy gasped, struggled to a sitting position, aided by his oddly assorted ministrants, gazed round in a dazed condition and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
"I'm steerin' you right, old man," said Creagan. "You'd better drag it for bed." "I ain't sleepy, I tell you." Espalin leaped up, snarling. "Say! You lukeing for troubles, maybe? Bell, I theenk thees hombre got a gun. Shall we freesk him?" As he flung the query over his shoulder his beady little eyes did not leave Pringle's.
"I don't know who killed Dick Marr; but I do know that Creagan, Joe Espalin, and Applegate intended to kill me last night. They gave me back my sixshooter, that Ben Creagan had borrowed and it was loaded with blanks. Then they pitched onto me, and if it hadn't been for Pringle they'd have got me sure! We left town at eleven o'clock and rode straight to the Vorhis Ranch."
"I'll make a note of it. I have a good memory, Pringle and good friends. Give me some water, someone. I feel sick." Espalin brought a canteen. "Take your time, Chris," said Lisner. "Tell us when you feel able to go." "I'll be all right after a little. Say, boys, it was the queerest feeling coming to, I mean. I could almost hear your voices, first.
You haven't got out of the country yet." "That will be all from you, Sheriff. You, too, Creagan and Espalin. Not a word or I'll shoot. And I don't care how soon you begin to talk. That goes!" Espalin shriveled up; the sheriff and Creagan sat sullen and silent. Foy got to his feet rather unsteadily. "Chris, you might slip around and gather up their guns," said Pringle. "Pick out one for yourself.
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