"Ain't you--eh--goin' on down town?"

"I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first."

McNeil chuckled. "You--eh--better be careful goin' up

that--eh--gully," he volunteered, soberly, "the--eh--ghosts of them

four--eh--Injuns might--eh--haunt ye!"

Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in the back. "You

blathering, mutton-headed cowherd!" he yelled, savagely.

But McNeil was already nearly out of hearing.




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