A Stranger Comes to Hastings
"Might as well, I reckon," said Pop, shuffling across the room with a sudden show of animation, "though my life ain't exactly in danger. Nope; he ain't no sheriff, or marshal. We ain't got none, 'though I ain't sayin' we couldn't keep one tolerable busy while he lived. I've thought some of gettin' th' boys together to elect me sheriff; an' cussed if I wouldn't 'a' done it, too, if it wasn't for th' ridin'."
"Ridin'?" inquired the stranger with polite interest.
"It shakes a man up so; an' I allus feels sorry for th' hoss," explained the proprietor.
The stranger's facial training at the great American game was all that saved him from committing a breach of etiquette. "Huh! Reckon it does shake a man up," he admitted. "An' I never thought about th' cayuse; no, sir; not till this minute. Any ranches in this country?"
"Shore; lots of 'em. You lookin' for work?"
"Yes; I reckon so," answered the stranger.
"Well, if you don't look out sharp you'll shore find some."
"A man's got to eat more or less regular; an' cowpunchers ain't no exception," replied the stranger, his soft drawl in keeping with his slow, graceful movements.
Pop, shrewd reader of men that he was, suspected
7
