“They ain’t never yit run out in the road and drug anybody off his horse,” replied Teeters grimly. “They charge four bits a meal to strangers.”
“What?” Surely his ears had deceived him.
Inspired by the Major’s dumbfounded expression, the cowboy continued:
“They have their big meal at night and call it dinner, and they wash their hands at the table when they git done eatin’, and Big Liz has to lope in from the kitchen when she hears the bell tinkle and pass ’em somethin’ either one of ’em could git by reachin’.” He lowered his voice confidentially, “Most any meal I look fur her to hit one of ’em between the horns.”
The Major stared round-eyed, breathless, like a child listening to a fairy tale which he feared would end if he interrupted.
“In the evenin’ the boss puts on a kind of eatin’ jacket, a sawed-off coat that makes a growed man look plumb foolish, and she comes out in silk and satin that shows considerable hide. Have you met this here Toomey?”
“Not yet; that’s a pleasure still in store for me.”
“Pleasure!” exclaimed Teeters, who took the polite phrase literally. “More like you’ll want to knock his head off. Old Timer,” he leaned over the saddle horn, “seein’ as you’re from Missoury, I’ll tell you private that you’d better keep on travelin’. Company ain’t wanted at the Scissor Outfit, and they’d high-tone it over you so ’twouldn’t be noways enjoyable.”
“There is plenty of ranches where I am welcome,” replied the Major with dignity. “I kin make the Widder Taylor’s by sundown.”
“Miss Maggie plays good on the pianner,” Teeters commented, expectorating violently to conceal a certain embarrassment.