The Sheriff's Son
Ryan walked as far as the hotel with Dave and his partner.
"Come in and have dinner with us, Pat," invited the cattleman.
The Irishman shook his head. "Can't, Dave. Got to go round to the Elephant Corral and look at my horse. A nail wint into its foot last night."
After they had dined, Dingwell looked at his watch. "I want you to look over the ranch today, son. We 'll ride out and I 'll show you the place. But first I 've got to register a kick with the station agent about the charges for freight on a wagon I had shipped in from Denver. Will you stop at Salmon's and order this bill of groceries sent up to the corral? I 'll meet you here at 2.30."
Roy walked up Mission Street as far as Salmon's New York Grocery and turned in the order his friend had given him. After he had seen it filled, he strolled along the sunny street toward the plaza. It was one of those warm, somnolent New Mexico days as peaceful as old age. Burros blinked sleepily on three legs and a hoof-tip. Cowponies switched their tails indolently to brush away flies. An occasional half-garbed Mexican lounged against a door
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