And SHE never
thought of going just this time of month when the miners are in
with their dust, and Goodrich would be sure to have that much.
That's friend Palmer. Been going on a month, you say?"
"I couldn't say anything, Buck," said Parker anxiously. "A man's
never sure enough about them things till afterwards."
"I know," agreed Buck Johnson; "give me a light for my
cigarette."
He puffed for a moment, then rose, stretching his legs. In a
moment he returned from the other room, the old shiny Colt's
forty-five strapped loosely on his hip. Jed looked him in the
face with some anxiety. The foreman was not deceived by the
man's easy manner; in fact, he knew it to be symptomatic of one
of the dangerous phases of Senor Johnson's character.
"What's up, Buck?" he inquired.
"Just going out for a pasear with the little horse, Jed."
"I suppose I better come along?"
"Not with your lame foot, Jed."
The tone of voice was conclusive. Jed cleared his throat.
"She left this for you," said he, proffering an envelope. "Them
kind always writes."
"Sure," agreed Senor Johnson, stuffing the letter carelessly into
his side pocket. He half drew the Colt's from its holster and
slipped it back again.
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