“You been in a scrap?” asked Grayson. “Who with?”
“A party of Pesita's men,” replied Bridge.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You see they are working pretty close,” said Grayson, to his employer, and then to Bridge: “Well, if you took that cayuse from one of Pesita's bunch you can't call that stealin'. Your room's in there, back of the office, an' you'll find some clothes there that the last man forgot to take with him. You ken have 'em, an' from the looks o' yourn you need 'em.”
“Thank you,” replied Bridge. “My clothes are a bit rusty. I shall have to speak to James about them,” and he passed through into the little bedroom off the office, and closed the door behind him.
“James?” grunted Grayson. “Who the devil does he mean by James? I hain't seen but one of 'em.”
The boss was laughing quietly.
“The man's a character,” he said. “He'll be worth all you pay him—if you can appreciate him, which I doubt, Grayson.”
“I ken appreciate him if he ken keep books,” replied Grayson. “That's all I ask of him.”