"Ain't you--eh--goin' on down town?"
"I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first."
McNeil chuckled. "You--eh--better be careful goin' up
that--eh--gully," he volunteered, soberly, "the--eh--ghosts of them
four--eh--Injuns might--eh--haunt ye!"
Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in the back. "You
blathering, mutton-headed cowherd!" he yelled, savagely.
But McNeil was already nearly out of hearing.