CHAPTER 4Mary Jane laughs and shakes her head.
“I don’t think I understand.”
“He means that this person ain’t such a much,” explains Hashknife, “and that he gets husky in the neck because somebody rustles his beef.”
“You might try saying it different,” says she, looking at me.
“Well,” says I, “this whippoorwill is about three jumps short of being half-witted and he—”
“No,” says Mary Jane, “that isn’t exactly clear either.”
“He ain’t got good sense, ma’am,” says Hashknife.
“The Hell I ain’t!” I snaps, ’cause it makes me mad.
“Back up—you’re in your own loop,” grins Hashknife; “I was speakin’ about Bowers, Sleepy,” and then he turns to Mary Jane.
“This person ain’t got good sense, ma’am. He thinks that somebody is stealin’ his cows and he comes over here to talk about it.”
“Oh, I s
