Only trouble with him, he’s . . .

DIRT MEAN AND DANGEROUS

“Listen, Junior,” said Munn. “We can’t stand around here all day, jawin’ about the good old days. What if somebody happens along? We’ve got all we can get here, so let’s go.”

“No strongbox, Junior,” added Selwyn. “But the kid was totin’ two hundred. Let’s not push our luck.”

“Two hundred,” Jones said thoughtfully, studying their supposed victim. “Ain’t so much for men to risk their lives for, is it?”

“If you’re askin’ me,” Lucky drawled, “all I can say is nobody’s asking you to rob stages.”

“No, they don’t ever ask,” Jones agreed, “but there’s some that’ll force a man to it.”

Lucky laughed outright.

“Gonna tell me the devil made you do it?” he sniffed.

“If that’s what you wish to call him,” Jones said slowly. “Don’t you know who it was, put me and Bobby on the owlhoot? Why, it was your fine Uncle Euclid. And if you don’t mind me bad-mouthin’ your uncle, I just got to say he’s the lowest, meanest sonuva the Good Lord ever put breath into.”