McAlpin touched his cap. “Thank you kindly, sir, I’m sure. It costs like hell to live out here, Mr. de Spain.”
“Lefever says you live off him at poker.”
“Ha, ha! Ha, ha, sir! John will have his joke. He’s always after me to play poker with him––I don’t like to do it. I’ve got a family to support––he ain’t. But by and far, I don’t think John and me is ten dollars apart, year in and year 118 out. Look at that bay, sir! A month ago Elpaso said that horse was all in––look at him now. I manage to keep things up.”
“What did you say,” asked de Spain indifferently, “had been the matter with Nan Morgan?” Her name seemed a whole mouthful to speak, so fearful was he of betraying interest.
“Why, I really didn’t say, sir. And I don’t know. But from what she says, and the way she coughs, I’m thinking it was a touch of this p-new-monia that’s going around so much lately, sir.”
His listener recalled swiftly the days that had passed since the night he had seen her wet through in the cold rain at Sleepy Cat. He feared Jim’s diagnosis might be right. And he had already made all arrangements to meet the occasion now presenting itself. Circumstances seemed at last to favor him, and he looked at his watch. The down stage bringing Nan back would be due in less than an hour.
“Jim,” he said thoughtfully, “you are doing the right thing in showing some good-will toward the Morgans.”
“Now, I’m glad you think that, sir.”
“You know I unintentionally rubbed their backs the wrong way in dragging Sassoon out.”
“They’re jealous of their power, I know––very jealous.”