“Is that any of your business?” snapped the owner of the name.
“Not a bit,” was the calm reply, “an’ I don’t care a damn. It only happened I was rounded-up, awhile back, by a parcel of fellers ’t said they was from the Palo Verde. They’d mistook me fer you, an’ you sure have some enthusiastic friends. They’re a whoopin’ it up yet, I guess, ’lowin’ they’re seekin’ your society.”
“Who were they?” Westcott asked.
“I didn’t exchange no cards with the gents,” the stranger replied, grinning. “’Twas enough fer me to know they was friends o’ yourn’. An’ seein’ you now, to realize your lovely disposition, I don’t know ’s I wonder at the warmth o’ the feelin’ they showed fer you. They may be yer dearest friends,” he went on, more seriously, “an’ you may be goin’ to meet ’em this minute, but what I sot out to say was, that if a party o’ my dearest friends was lookin’ fer me in the tone o’ voice them fellers was exhibitin’ I’d either stay where I was, if I thought it was a good place, er I’d git on my nag an’ I’d drift, mighty lively.”
“Bah!” was Westcott’s reply, as he got into the saddle. “I don’t know why anyone should be hunting for me, and I’m not afraid of them if they are. People generally know where to find me if they have business with me.... Thank you, though,” he muttered, recollecting himself.
“You’re sure welcome,” the stranger said, turning away, as the lawyer rode down the street.
“You’re sure good an’ welcome,” he added, to himself, “to all ’ts likely comin’ to you.”
“There are a lot of things I’ve got to straighten out.”
It was Gard, who spoke, from his place beside Sandy Larch in the buckboard.
“I think, too,” he added, addressing Sandy, a note of sadness in his tone, “that I must tell you good friends about them, right away.”