starts to get light. Th' other feller grunts an' sits up, bumpin' his head solid against that fool rafter. No dead man that was shoved in a herd consigned to heaven ever used such language, which makes me all the shorer of where I am. But if hell 's hot we 've still got a long way to go.
"He sits there rubbin' his head an' cussin' steadily, an' I 'm so moved by it that I compliments him. He jumps an' bumps his head again, an' looks at me close. 'D—d if you ain't a husky corpse,' he says. That settles it. I ain't crazy, like I was hopin', but I 'm dead. 'You an' me is on th' ragged edge of h—l,' he adds.
"'But who tipped you off?' I asks. 'They just shoved me in here an' did n't tell me nothin' at all.'
"'Crazy as th' devil,' he grunts, lookin' at me harder.
"'Yo 're a liar,' I replies. 'I may be dead, but d—d if I 'm crazy!'
"'An' I don't blame you, either,' he mused, sorrowful. 'Now you keep quiet till I gets somethin'
