“What is it?”

“Wally’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“Wally, down at the stable.”

“Oh, that’s a darned shame. That’s too bad. What killed him?”

“The Indians.”

“What? Come off!”

“No, the Mexican Indians. Yaquis or something. They shot him for his horse and saddle, and he’s dead.”

“That’s certainly a darned shame. I don’t think I ever knew him, but——Well, why can’t you come out tonight, anyway?”

“Why, Harvey. I can’t. Don’t you see? I can’t go.”