Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, Peacemaker; Or, On a Troublesome Trail онлайн

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Hackamore was a mighty poor apology for a town, yet it had a huddle of buildings which formed a nucleus for people—and it was buildings and people the pards were eager to see.

There was a crowd in the street in front of the hotel.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Wild Bill of a lanky individual who was leaning against a post and picking his teeth with a sliver.

“Aw, shucks!” answered the lank person; “Lige Benner an’ Hank Phelps aire cuttin’ capers with their jewelry. All dumb foolishness, but I allow it kain’t be helped.”

The long Texan nibbled at a bar of tobacco, and settled back against the post with a resigned air.

Wild Bill elbowed his way through the crowd and came upon the two cattlemen.

Hank Phelps wore a high Mexican hat with tinkling silver ornaments festooned around the brim. His jacket was short, his trousers flared at the bottoms, and his waist was begirt with a gaudy sash. Phelps was American, through and through, but Mexican clothes were more spectacular, and for this reason alone he wore them.