Jensen and Ronstone were not happy campers. They had become transformed into a swollen mess of bee stings, and crawled away until they came to a muddy bank where they plastered themselves with muck, rolled around until you couldn’t recognize who they were, except for Ronstone’s bowler hat and Jensen’s prodigious girth. He looked around for his gun, but couldn’t find it.
Two fellows out deer-hunting in the countryside happened upon the compatriots. “What have we got here?”
“Don’t know,” said the first fellow, “maybe it’s Bigfoot. Heard he’s been walking in these parts scaring people.”
“But I see two of them. Not one.”
“Guess it must be Bigfeet.” They laughed.
“Laugh all you want,” said Ronstone. “We got attacked by a squadron of bees.”
“A squadron, you say?” The first fellow cocked his head and stared at Ronstone and then at Jensen. “Wait a sec.” he rubbed his chin. “Don’t I know you two mudrocks from somewhere?” He became a picture of concentration. “TollHouse, ain’t these two members of the same outfit who tried to poison us with those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
TollHouse stepped forward and rested his rifle on his shoulder. He moved in for a close-up—eyes encircled with mud, clothes caked with dirt, red pyramids along their arms and faces. “That’s them,” he said. “I’d recognize that bowler hat and that fat ass, anywhere!”
“That’s ridiculous “Who are you?” Ronstone said.
He addressed the other man.” He’s hurting my feelings, Sidney.”
“Mine too.”
“I’m TollHouse of the Cruston boys and you’re that jackass who wanted us to empty the Pool of Knowledge,” said Tollhouse
“Our mistake. Sorry.”
“We all make mistakes,” said Tollhouse, “and so do I. You’re the two jackasses who wanted us to empty the Pool of Knowledge. I puked my guts out for days afterward. I think you should apologize. “Don’t you think so, Sid?”
“I think they should pay us what they owe us, and then maybe we’ll call it even.”
“How ‘bout it boys?” Tollhouse said. “Pay us our wages and we’ll leave you alone. That’s fair, now ain’t it?”
“But we haven’t got any money,” said Ronstone who always caved in the face of guns. Jensen kicked him with a muddy boot.
“What my associate is trying to stay,” said Jensen, “is that in our current circumstances we’re short of cash, but we’ve plenty back at my joint—Jensen’s Joint in Oakside.”
“Is that where you’re from?” TollHouse said.
“He is,” said Ronstone, but I’m from the city of giant buildings across the river. And as soon as I get back, I’ll wire you money. I can get it to you sooner if I leave right now. I’m on my way.” He smiled. His teeth looked pearly in contrast to the mud.
“Not so fast,” said Tollhouse. “We might be bandits,” said TollHouse, “but we’re not a bunch of sorry liars, are we Sid?”
“No, we ain’t. The bandit code forbids any lying or crookiness.”
“What do you think we should do?” TollHouse asked.
“We could shoot ‘em right now and get it over with,” said Sidney. “Come to think of it, they also messed around with my brother Orren. Chased him when he brought them a talking bird named Liana. But he made hundreds with that bird at festivals and fairs. People lined up from all over.”
“Hundreds, you say?” Jensen wiped away drips of mud from his eyes.
Sidney thought. “It was probably more like thousands.”