"Yes sir," Dan Gustin agreed, with a very foolish look about him. "Much obliged, Mr. Thomson."
"Twenty-five dollars," said Thomson, severely, holding out his hand. "I haven't got any advice to give away."
Dan Gustin got out his money, very red in the face, looking more foolish and chastened than ever, and left twenty-five dollars in the lawyer's not over-clean fingers.
"I'll let him live a good while!" said the cowboy, with a wry grin, stuffing his wallet into his inner vest-pocket.
"It would pay you," Thomson nodded, raising his eyebrows with his eyes to look into the tall young man's face, but not moving his head at all.
"It'd be cheaper for me to throw my stuff into a gunny-sack and hit the breeze out of this country," the cowboy figured, making for the door.
"And wiser," the lawyer shot after him, moved somewhat out of his habitual attitude of contempt for the weaknesses of men by the honest simplicity of the one at present before him. "So you're ridin' the range for old Dale Findlay?"
"I'm makin' a stagger at it."
"Give him my regards," said Thomson, a mocking sarcasm in his tone that won for him another deepfathoming glance from the cowboy's baffled eyes.
"I'll mention you sent 'em," Gustin agreed, one foot outside the door.
"There's a feller down at Grimmitt's inquirin' the way out to your God-forsaken ranch."
