“You’ve near spoiled a dinged fine rope,” observed Munson, following him, and kicking at the lariat, still stretched across the floor. “Oh, well, I can take it out of the K. & Z.
“Now for some breakfast. Suppose you don’t feel too bad to grub, eh? Though you sure don’t deserve none.”
As on the previous morning, Alex and his jailer were near the conclusion of the meal when hoofbeats again told of the approach of a visitor. Going to the door, the cowman announced “Bennet.”
“So that’s his name, is it?” said Alex quickly.
“What? Did I say—Well, let it go. I don’t see that it makes much difference. Yes, Bennet’s his name.
“And mighty lucky thing I have you back here,” he added over his shoulder.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennet,” he said. “Caught us at breakfast again.”
“Breakfast! What are you doing at breakfast this time of day?” inquired the K. & Z. man, entering. When the cowman explained, the newcomer glowered at Alex threateningly. “Why didn’t you shoot?” he demanded.
“Too near the train. They would have heard it,” responded Munson.
“Well, clear off the table. I have something I want to show you,” said Bennet, producing what looked like a map from his pocket.