"You the main guy here?"
The agent nodded.
"Got a sore throat?" demanded the boy surlily. He started toward the
door. The agent made no move, but his eyes were attentive.
"That'll be near enough," he said quietly.
"Oh, we ain't on that lay," put in the grizzled man. He was quite
hoarse. "You needn't to be scared of us."
"I'm not," agreed the agent. And, indeed, the fact was self-evident.
"What about the pueblo yonder?" asked the man with a jerk of his head
toward the town.
"The hoosegow is old and the sheriff is new."
"I got ya," said the man, nodding. "We better be on our way."
"I would think so."
"You're a hell of a guy, you are," whined the boy. "'On yer way' from
you an' not so much as 'Are you hungry?' What about a little hand-out?"
"Nothing doing."
"Tightwad! How'd you like--"
"If you're hungry, feel in your coat-pocket."
"I guess you're a wise one," put in the man, grinning appreciatively.
"We got grub enough. Panhandlin's a habit with the kid; don't come
natural to him to pass a likely prospect without makin' a touch."
He leaned against the platform, raising one foot slightly from the
ground in the manner of a limping animal. The agent disappeared into the
station, locking the door after him.
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