Torres’ hand went to his pocket, but came away empty. He realized that Hashknife did not want a match. He turned his head and looked at Garcia, who was scowling at Sleepy.
“You want a match, eh?” said Torres slowly. “My friend, I am very sorry, but I have none.”
“Thassall right,” said Hashknife. “Much obliged just the same.”
He walked past Torres and went into the store, followed by Sleepy, who was grinning widely. Torres scowled heavily and looked at Garcia.
“Who are these men?” demanded Torres in Spanish.
“How should I know?” replied Garcia heavily. “I did not speak to the pig who grins only with his mouth.”
“They are strangers here,” mused Torres. “Last night they came on the stage.”
“This morning,” corrected Garcia. “They were talking with the sheriff, who is also a fool.”
“A f
