“Well, if you are in the neighborhood, I’ll give you a reserved seat.”
“That’s the talk; I’ll do my best.”
“You mustn’t forget that he is running away from me.”
Cal swung the other leg over its mate and submerged a fly that was groping far beyond ordinary hydraulic range. Raising his hand he protested:
“Hold on, pardner; young Brandley ain’t running away from you.”
“How do you know he isn’t?”
“I warn’t with him long, but long enough to see what kind of stuff he’s made of; he’s true blue and don’t you forget it. He’ll be waiting for you when you get to the next station and you can then have it out.”
“I hope so, but I doubt it.”
“He’ll never show the white feather, more than you will.”
Inasmuch as Cal included Alden in this compliment, our young friend could make no objection to the same.
