"It was George's fault," explained Slim to the questions of the
arrivals. "This feller tried to make a get-away, but George had to
have his amusement."
A new-comer addressed the squaw-man in a voice as cold as the wind.
"Cut this out, George! This is a friend of mine. You're making this
camp a regular hell for strangers, and now I'm goin' to tap your
little snap. Cool off--see?"
Jones's reputation as a bad gun-man went hand in hand with his name
as a good gambler, and his scanty remarks invariably evoked attentive
answers, so George explained: "I don't like him Jones, and I was jus'
makin' him over to look like a man. I'll do it yet, too," he flashed
wrathfully at his quiet antagonist.
"'Pears to me like he's took a hand in the remodelling himself,"
replied the gambler, "but if you're lookin' for something to do,
here's your chance. Windy Jim just drove in and says Barton and Kid
Sullivan are adrift on the ice."
"What's that?" questioned eager voices, and, forgetting the recent
trouble at the news, the crowd pressed forward anxiously.
Pages:
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175