“Got a comb.” Johnny fumbled comb and toothbrush from his vest, and completed his toilet. “Haven’t you had breakfast yet?”
“Naw. I hated to wake you up, you was hitting it off so regular. And you’re the only prisoner I got now. Court’s just over and the sheriff he’s gone to Santa Fé with my only boarders. Lord only knows when he’ll get back,” said Mr. Gwinne parenthetically. “Jim is a good sheriff, a mighty good sheriff—but when he gets away from home he sees life through a glass darkly. They had him in jail, last time. So I thought we might as well be sociable.”
“Oh! Then you’re the party for me to jolly up when I want favors?”
“No,” said Gwinne regretfully, “I’m not. The justice is gone, the sheriff’s gone, and the district judge is always gone except when court sits here. But the prosecuting attorney—he serves for the whole district, five counties, like the judge, you know—why, by bad luck, he’s right here, a-hoppin’ and a-rarin’. So I’m under orders.”
“Well, so am I. What are they? What can I do to help?” The ham sizzled merrily. “Um-m!” said Johnny appreciatively.
“You might set the table. I’ll do the cooking to-day. If so be you get to be a star boarder you’ll have to do your share of the cooking—though I reckon they’ll want me to keep you under key if you’re bound over. Come to think, this prosecuting person would likely kick like a green bay horse if he knew I was lettin’ you mill round foot-loose. However, he don’t know. How many eggs? Hard or soft?”
“Oh, about four—medium. We can always cook more if we have to. And four pods of chili. But why has the prosecutor got it in for me? He don’t want to cinch me unless I’m guilty, does he?”
“It isn’t that, exactly. You see, it has got out that you ride for the Bar Cross. And the Bar Cross boys got Wade’s goat, some way, down in Cruces. I don’t know what they did, but he’s sure on the peck, and here’s where he stands to break even. Pour the coffee. Tin cow yonder on the shelf.”
“Oh, well—he may have a little fun coming to him,” said Johnny generously. “But let us hope, for his own sake, that he gives me a fair shake when it comes to my trial. If the Bar Cross and the John Cross aren’t just satisfied they are capable of any rudeness—abandoned ruffians! Say, I hope someone took care of my Twilight horse.”