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Does that make any difference to you?" "Some," said the sheriff. "It lets young McCrae out, I reckon." "How about McHale?" "That's a killin'. You got nothin' to do with that. Anyway, he's got a good defence." "I'll sign his bail bond to any amount." "I reckon there won't be no trouble about that," said the sheriff. "I know a man when I see him. McHale's all right.
He went downhill at a pace that would have shaken an older and heavier man to pieces; for going downhill is, contrary to the popular idea, much harder on the human frame than going up. He broke into camp and roused McHale from a state of somnolence and tobacco. "I could 'a' tanned your young hide when you bulled off after that bear," said the latter.
But around the waist of each was a holster-weighted belt, and across each saddle was slanted a rifle. Because of these warlike manifestations Clyde slept no more that night. As the night air vibrated with the first explosion Casey Dunne and McHale leaped from their beds, and rushed for the door, opened it, and stood listening. There they heard another and another.
"Ay ban ready now," he announced. "I say, Oscar, don't trip," said Wyndham facetiously. "Nor interfere," McHale added. "Plant them number twelves of yours plumb wide apart, Oscar, and don't try to scratch your ankle with your boot." Oscar grinned at them, his big, white teeth shining in the darkness. He attempted the repartee of his adopted country.
She's surely due to be soup flavourin'. She ain't got no more show than if the Oriental was a coon. He's talkin' now 'bout goin' back to China." "He always does when he gets a grouch. I wish I could get a white man." "A white man that can cook hates to stay sober long enough to build a bannock," said McHale. "Chink grub has one flavour, but it comes reg'lar, there's that about it."
D'ye think I could look Casey in the face, or Sheila, or my old dad? Would one of them quit you? You bet they wouldn't. I'll see this through. Here, gimme what rifle cartridges you got, and shut up that line of talk. I won't stand for it, and I won't go." "'Most every family has one blame fool in it," said McHale. "All right, durn you, stay. If I could chase you out I'd do it.
Said she: "Good evening, gentlemen. Do you think I resemble Mr. McHale?" "No, ma'am," said the leader; "I don't reckon you favour him much." Admiration was apparent in his voice. Clyde smiled at him. "Then perhaps you'll take a look at my room now, and allow me to retire again." "I don't need to look there, ma'am," the man replied. "I'm awful sorry we troubled you."
But Casey got him outside and administered a vitriolic lecture that had some effect. "I'm sorry, Casey," McHale acknowledged, contritely. "I s'pose I ought to known better. But that gent with the gun and Farwell between them got me goin'. Honest, I never hunted trouble in my life. It just naturally tracks up on me when I'm lyin' all quiet in camp. Course, it has to be took care of when it comes."
"Come along, Casey," McHale urged. "We ain't got too much time." "Time or not, we can't have Farwell hurt. You go. I'll be after you in a minute." "If you stay we all stay," said McHale. "Let him take his chance. Come on!" "Git, I tell you," Casey insisted. "I've got to keep him where he is till the first shot goes." He called out: "All right, Mr. Farwell. You don't need to come. I'll be there."
Coldstream was indoors, somnolent with the afternoon heat. Across the street the proprietor of the general store commented lazily to a friend: "What's Tom McHale doin'?" "Some fool joke. He's full of them. I reckon he wants us to ask him." McHale called to them: "Boys, if I was you I'd move out of line of me and Bob's door." "What did I tell you?" the wise one commented. "You bet I don't bite.
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