“Look out! Sidewinder’s feelin’ mean today. Him and that female woman have been talkin’ chicken-ranches, I reckon. Oh, my gosh! Now that there mistake for a human is headin’ this-a-way—”
Mr. Tompkins, indeed, seemed to sense a general lack of cordiality all around him, except in the gaping countenance of Sagebrush, whom he now approached.
“My friend—”
“Pilgrim, don’t bother me!” said Sagebrush defensively. “It jest can’t be true!”
“I’ll pay three dollars a day to a man who knows the desert.”
Sagebrush changed countenance. So did the remainder of Stovepipe Springs. There was a general forward movement, but the desert rat was the first to recover voice.
“You’re done, pilgrim, you’re sure engaged! What was it you wanted to find?”
“Crotalus cerastes. Undoubtedly you can introduce me to specimens?”
Sagebrush swallowed hard, but had a reputation to sustain, and upheld it nobly.
“You bet!” he announced promptly. “Lots o’ them specimens up around Marble Cañon, and over by Lost Waterhole I’ve seen ’em so thick you couldn’t hardly move without steppin’ on ’em. I’ll take you right where them things breed, Perfesser.”