“Sick?”
“She ain’t really fit to ride a step,” confided the Scotch boss with growing confidence. “But she’s been going up two or three times now to get some medicine from Doc Torpy––that’s the way of it. There’s a nice girl, sir––in a bunch o’ ruffians, I know––though old Duke, she lives with, he ain’t a half-bad man except for too many cards; I used to work for him––but I call her a nice girl. Do you happen to know her?”
De Spain had long been on guard. “I’ve spoken with her in a business way one or twice, Jim. I can’t really say I know her.”
“Nice girl. But that’s a tough bunch in that Gap, sure as you’re alive; yes, sir.”
De Spain was well aware the canny boss ought to know. McAlpin had lived at one time in the Gap, and was himself reputed to have been a hardy and enduring rider on a night round-up.
“Anything sick, Jim?” asked de Spain, walking on down the barn and looking at the horses. It was only the second time since he had given him the job that de Spain had called the barn boss “Jim,” and McAlpin answered with the rising assurance of one who realizes he is “in” right. “Not so much as a sore hoof in either alley, Mr. de Spain. I try to take care of them, sir.”
“What are we paying you, Jim?”
“Twenty-seven a week, sir; pretty heavy work at that.”
“We’ll try to make that thirty-two after this week.”