At Bay
"If you wouldn't sprawl out in a natural path an' take up th' earth you wouldn't get kicked in th' ribs!" snapped Fleming.
"Yo're a fine pair of doodle-bugs," sneered Holbrook, sighing wearily as he arose. He lowered his voice. "Here he is over this end of th' trail an' givin' you a fine chance to sneak up an' bushwhack him; an' all you do is dodge rocks, cuss yore fool luck, an' kick folks in th' ribs. Don't you know an opportunity when you see one?"
"Is this an opportunity?" mumbled Purdy sarcastically, rubbing his arm and fighting mosquitoes.
"With that fire showing up everything for rods?" softly asked Fleming with heavy irony. "Who's been puttin' loco weed in yore grub?"
"'Tain't loco weed," growled Purdy. "It's red-eye. He drinks it like it was water."
"No such luck," retorted Holbrook; "not while yo're around. It ain't no opportunity if yo're aimin' to have a pe-rade past th' fire," he continued in a harsh whisper; "but it shore was a good one if you had cut down through th' canyon a couple of rods below th' end of th' trail, an' then climbed up to it an' stuck close to th' wall. You could 'a' been up there now, a-layin' for him when he went back on guard. It's cussed near as simple as you are."
"You must 'a' read that in that joke book what come
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