"
"How--who----" began Creagan; but Pringle cut him short.
"Ask me no more, sweet! You have no speaking part here. We'll do the
talking. I just love to talk. I am the original tongue-tied man; I ebb
and flow. Don't let me hear a word from any of you! Well, pardner?"
Foy, still kneeling in fascinated amaze, now rose. Creagan's nose was
bleeding profusely.
"That was one awful wallop you handed our gimlet-eyed friend," said
Pringle admiringly. "Neatest bit of work I ever saw. Sir, to you! My
compliments!" He placed a chair near the front door and sat down. "I
feel like a lion in a den of Daniels," he sighed.
"But how did you happen to be here so handy?" inquired Foy.
"Didn't happen--I did it on purpose," said John Wesley. "You see,
these four birds tipped their hand. All evening they been instructing
me where I got off. They would-ed I had the wings of a dove, so I
might fly far, far away and be at rest. Now, I put it to you, do I
look like a dove?"
"Not at present," laughed Foy.
"Well, I didn't like it--nobody would. I see there was a hen on, I
knew the lay of the ground from looking after my horse. So I
clomped off to bed, got my good old Excalibur gun--full name X.L.V.
Caliber--slipped off my boots, tippytoed down the back stairs like a
Barred Rock cat, oozed in by the side door--and here I be! I overheard
their pleasant little plan to do you.
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