Jeffries turned to his desk. “Ask John Lefever.”
De Spain had a long talk with John. But John was a poor adviser. He advised no one on any subject. He whistled, he hummed a tune, if his hat was on he took it off, and if it happened to be off, which was unusual, he put it on. He extended his arm, at times, suddenly, as if on the brink of a positive assertion. But he decided nothing, and asserted nothing. If he talked, he talked well and energetically; but the end of a talk usually found him and de Spain about where they began. So it was on this trying day––for Lefever was not able wholly to hide the upsetting of his confidence of victory, and his humiliation 15 at the now more distant yells from the Calabasas and Morgan Gap victors.
But concerning the Morgans and their friends, Lefever, to whom Jeffries had rudely referred the subject at the close of his talk with de Spain, did abandon his habitual reticence. “Rustlers, thieves, robbers, coiners, outlaws!” he exclaimed energetically.
“Is this because they got your money to-day, John?” asked de Spain.
“Never mind my money. I’ve got a new job with nothing to do, and plenty of cash.”
De Spain asked what the job was. “On the stages,” announced Lefever. “I am now general superintendent of the Thief River Line.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I act for the reorganization committee in buying alfalfa for the horses and smokeless pipes for the guards. I am to be your assistant.”
“I’m not going to take that job, John.”
“Yes, you are.”