The Man from Bar-20
up to the place where his friend lay and petulantly cursed the flies.
"Ijut Number Two," said Luke pleasantly, "where are you?"
"Talkin' to hisself again," grumbled a low voice from the mysterious passages under a great, tumbled mass of bowlders. "If a body meet a body, reachin' for th' rye," continued the vexed voice, "whose treat is it?"
"Depends on who can't keep still," answered Luke brightly. "We are two ijuts," he said positively and flatly.
"Well, I allus like a man that speaks his mind, even if he is a liar," commented the mysterious voice. "D—n these flies! I crawled in here to get rid of 'em; but they come right along. An' a little while back I smelled a striped kitty-cat. I knowed what it was because th' wind wasn't blowin' from yore direction."
"Cuss his impudence!" said Luke. "He takes me for a wild flower! A rose, mebby. An' me comin' out here to save his worthless life!"
"You didn't do nothin' of th' kind," contradicted the sepulchral voice. "You come out here to practice with Colonel Bowie! I can prove it before any fool jury. D—n th' flies!"
"What flies?" innocently demanded Luke, his voice
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