“Of course,” Gale said and turned to follow him down the slope, sternly keeping her eyes away from that slippery, scaly, headless thing lying in the long grass.
“Do you always wear a gun, Jim?” she asked. “I never noticed it before.”
“No, Miss Gale, none of us cowboys do,” he answered. “Guns belong to the old, bad West. But here lately we been havin’ trouble and I kinda got used to havin’ one along when I go ridin’.”
“Probably on account of the cattle thieves,” Gale said to herself. Aloud she said:
“Trouble? What kind?”
“Oh, like these bank robbers,” he said evasively. “There’s always somebody willin’ to steal and honest folk have to protect themselves.”
“How did they get out of jail?” she asked as they reached the bottom of the hill and started along the trail to the ranch house.
“Sawed clean through the bars on the window,” he answered. “Probably had help from outside.”
“Has the Sheriff discovered either of them yet?”
“I reckon not. The Sheriff is good at trailin’ crooks, but these fellas are probably experienced in hidin’ out. I ’spect they’re almost to the border by now.”