“I couldn’t take no pay,” I breaks in. “And if I was t’ have to go, why any one of the bunch could help you just as good.”
“Let’s talk business,” he says. “I like you, and I don’t want you t’ go. Now, what’s you’ time worth?”
“I git forty a month.”
“Wal, that suits me. And you’ job won’t be a hard one.”
“Just as you say.”
So, then, we shook hands. But, a-course, I didn’t swaller that bodyguard story,–I figgered that what he wanted was t’ git in with the boys through me.
Wal, when I got back t’ the thirst-parlour, I acted like I was loco. “Boys! boys! boys!” I hollered, “I got a job!” And I give ’em all a whack on the back, and I done a jig.
Pretty soon, I was calmer. Then, I says, “I ain’t a-goin’ t’ ride fer Mulhall,–not this month, anyhow. This liter’toor gent’s hired me as his book foreman. As I understand it, they’s some things he wants, and I’m to help corral ’em. He says that just now most folks seem t’ be takin’ a lot of interest in the West. He don’t reckon the fashion’ll keep up, but, a-course a book-writer has t’ git on to the band-wagon. So, it’s up t’ me, boys, to give him what’s got to be had ’fore the excitement dies down.”
Hairoil come over t’ me. “Cupid,” he says, “the hull kit and boodle of us’ll come in on this. We want t’ help, that’s the reason. We owe it to y’, Cupid.”
“Boys,” I answers, “I appreciate what you mean, and I accept you’ offer. Thank y’.”