“Now you’re talking too much, Jerry,” she reproved. “The gentleman and I are only traveling acquaintances.”
“Yes, ma’am. To Benton. Let ’er roar. Cheyenne’s the closest I can get, myself, and Cheyenne’s a dead one—blowed up, busted worse’n a galvanized Yank with a pocket full o’ Confed wall-paper.” He yawned. “Guess I’ll take forty winks. Was up all night, and a man can stand jest so much, Injuns or no Injuns.”
“Did you expect to meet with Indians, sir, along the route?” I asked.
“Hell, yes. Always expect to meet ’em between Kearney and Julesburg. It’s about time they were wrecking another train. Well, so long. Be good to each other.” With this parting piece of impertinence he stumped out.
“A friendly individual, evidently,” I hazarded, to tide her over her possible embarrassment.
Her laugh assured me that she was not embarrassed at all, which proved her good sense and elevated her even farther in my esteem.
“Oh, Jerry’s all right. I don’t mind Jerry, except 42 that his tongue is hung in the middle. He probably has been telling you some tall yarns?”
“He? No, I don’t think so. He may have tried it, but his Western expressions are beyond me as yet. In fact, what he was driving at on the rear platform I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Driving at? In what way, sir?”
“He referred to the green in his eye and in the moon, as I recall; and to a mysterious ‘system’; and gratuitously offered me a ‘steer.’”