Tom Lee's chickens could whip
anything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced
accordingly.
"Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state
of affairs being deplorable.
"She shore is!" answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought,
he added, "Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?"
"`Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for
this place-last time they chased me to Las Cruces."
"That so?" Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. "Ain't they allus
interferin', now? Anyhow, they're better'n coyotes."
"They was purty well heeled," suggested Tex, glancing at a bunch of
repeating Winchesters of late model which lay stacked in a corner.
"Charley here said he thought they was from th' way yore cayuse
looked, didn't yu, Charley?" Charley nodded and filled his pipe.
"`Pears like a feller can't amble around much nowadays without
havin' to fight," grumbled Lefty Allen, who usually went out of his
way hunting up trouble.
"We're goin' to th' Hills as soon as our cookie turns up,"
volunteered Tenspot Davis, looking inquiringly at Frenchy. "Heard any
more news?"
"Nope. Same old story-lots of gold. Shucks, I've bit on so many of
them rumors that they don't feaze me no more. One man who don't know
nothin' about prospectin' goes an' stumbles over a fortune an' those
who know it from A to Izzard goes `round pullin' in their belts.
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