“Even if I lose my money it won’t cost me nothin’—I worked for it.”
Teeters glanced at the clock, yawned as he saw that the hands pointed to half past seven, and unhooked his heels from the rung of the chair preparatory to retiring.
A horse snorted, and the sound of hoofs on the frozen dooryard brought Teeters to attention. What honest person could be out jamming around this time of night, he wondered.
In preparation for callers he reached for his cartridge belt and holster that hung on a nail and laid them on the table.
The door opened and a stranger entered, blinking. The fringe of icicles hanging from his moustache looked like the contrivance to curtail the activities of cows given to breaking and entering.
“I seen you through the winder,” he said apologetically.
“I heard your horse whinner,” Teeters replied, politely, rising.
“This banany belt’s gittin’ colder every winter.” The stranger broke off an icicle and laid it on the stove to hear it sizzle.
“I was jest fixin’ to turn in,” Teeters hinted. “Last night I didn’t sleep good. I tossed and thrashed around until half-past eight 'fore I closed my eyes.”
“I won’t keep you up, then. I come over on business. Bowers’s my name. I’m a-workin’ for Miss Prentice. I’m a sheepherder myself by perfession.”