“Nope. Folks out here ain’t a-helpin’ Uncle Sam much. Postmaster says he only sold ten stamps this week. What he wants, as I told him, is women. Then everybody’ll be sendin’ letters and presents and things. Now, I knows what I’m talking about, because––-”
“The Apaches are out,” jabbed the sheriff, hopefully.
“Yes, I heard that you had a soiree with them. But they won’t get so far north as this. No, siree, they won’t. They knows too much, Apaches do. Ain’t they smart cusses, though? Now, there’s old Geronimo–been raising the devil for years. The cavalry goes out for him regular, and shore thinks he’s caught, but he ain’t. When he’s found he’s home smoking his pipe and counting his wives, which are shore numerous, they say. Now, I’ve got a bully scheme for getting him, Sheriff––”
“Hey, you,” came from the office. “Do you reckon that train is going to tie up and wait for you, hey? Do you think you are so d––d important that they won’t pull out unless you’re on hand? Why in h–l don’t you quit chinning and get started?”
“Oh, you choke up!” cried Bill, clambering up to his seat. “Who’s running this, anyhow!” he grumbled under his breath. Then he took up the reins and carefully sorted them, after which he looked down at Shields, whose face wore a smile of amusement.
“Bill Howland ain’t none a-scared because a lot of calamity howlers get a hunch. Not on your life! I’ve reached the high C of rollicking progress too many times to be airy scairt at rumors. Show me the feather-dusters in war paint, and then I’ll take some stock in raids. You get up a bet on me Sheriff, make a little easy money. Back Bill Howland to be right here in seventy-two hours, right side up and smiling, and you’ll win. You just bet you’ll––”
“Well, you won’t get here in a year unless you starts, you pest! For God’s sake get a-going and give the sheriff a rest!” came explosively from the office, accompanied by a sound as if a chair had dropped to its four legs. A tall, angular man stood in the doorway and shook his fist at the huge cloud of dust which rolled down the street, muttering savagely. Bill Howland had started on his eighty-mile trip to Sagetown.
“Damnedest talker on two laigs,” asserted the clerk. “He’ll drive me loco some day with his eternal jabber, jabber. Why do you waste time with him? Tell him to close his yap and go to h–l. Beat him over the head, anything to shut him up!”
Shields smiled: “Oh, he can’t help it. He don’t do anybody any harm.”
The clerk shook his head in doubt and started to return to his chair, and then stopped.