“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, “for a bonehead josher—yes.”
He walked on to the stable. His two horses stood in stalls. He had them out, saddled, and his pack part hitched, when Elmer Duffy came striding from the house. He had a green slip in his hand which he held out to Charlie. It was a check for five hundred dollars.
“Say, you ain’t pullin’ your freight, are you, Charlie?” Elmer inquired.
“Oh, no,” Charlie replied ironically, his eyes on the check. “I’m fixin’ to make myself at home with the Seventy-seven for all time, naturally. What’s this?”
“I made a crack before the whole outfit, didn’t I,” Elmer stated, “that I’d give five hundred dollars to lay my hands on whoever was killin’ beef? Well, I’m makin’ good on it. You got it comin’.”
Charlie stared at him and the check, but he said nothing.
“Look here,” Elmer said hurriedly. “You got a steady job with the Seventy-seven as long as you want. You’ll have to be on hand to give your evidence, anyhow, at the trial. An’ I guess maybe you’re a smarter kid than I reckoned. Maybe I was kinda hasty the other day. I can use fellers like you in this outfit.”
“I don’t want neither your money nor your job nor your gratitude, Elmer,” Charlie said politely.
“You better think that over, Charlie,” Elmer said, not quite so politely. “There’s a long, hard winter comin’, remember.”
Charlie tucked in the last hitch on the pack, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and swung up to his saddle on Crepe. The black horse shook his head, jingling the bit, and pawed the hard earth impatiently. Charlie looked down with an expansive grin.