A mixed company lunched that day in the long dining room. Ross was too late for the first table, and he stood waiting in the adjoining room, smoking by the huge cobbled fireplace, talking with other men who had drifted along too late for the first serving.
The talk struck upon Thady Shea and the huge joke of which Abel Dorales had been the victim. Ross listened and said nothing, as was his wont. He heard that Thady Shea had skipped the country; had, at any rate, not been found—must have gone over the Arizona line.
“Too bad,” commented a sturdy rancher from Quemado way. “He must ha’ been a right strapping guy, eh? And what he done down to Zacaton, when Ben Aimes give him a drink—say, ain’t ye heard ’bout that? It’s sure rich!”
The speaker recounted, with many added elaborations and details, the story of Thady Shea and his axe helve. Fred Ross listened in silence. Fred Ross thought of that heavy white crockery cup; reflectively, he rubbed his head above his ear, and grinned to himself. He was not the only one who had suffered for giving Thady Shea a drink, then!
When the talk turned upon reprisals, Fred Ross listened with more attention. Charges had been sworn out against Shea, it appeared; they had been sworn out by that fool Aimes, but had later been withdrawn. Abel Dorales had seen to it that they had been withdrawn. Abel Dorales had come to Magdalena; there he had half killed three drunken miners who had ventured to taunt him, and for the same reason he had taken a blacksnake to a sheepman. Abel Dorales had given out that he, and he alone, intended to deal with Thady Shea whenever the latter was found. It was a personal matter, outside the law. This attitude met with general approval.
“Not so bad!” reflected Fred Ross, as he passed in to his meal. “Not so bad! The law ain’t after him, anyhow. Now, if he’s let that demijohn alone to-day, I reckon he’s all right. Pretty tough on him, maybe, to leave him alone, but——”
The ins and outs of the business transaction attempted by Dorales, the transaction concerning Number Sixteen, had, of course, not been made public. But the general gist of the matter was an open secret. The joke on Dorales was huge, and was immensely appreciated.
The meal over, Ross went out to his car in order to get his tobacco. He idly observed that alongside his own flivver had been run another, a dust-white flivver with new tires. He paid no attention to it until he was drawn by the sound of a voice which he instantly recognized. He stood quiet, listening, looking toward the two figures on the far side of the dust-white flivver; they did not see him at all.
“No’m,” said the voice which Ross had recognized. “No’m, I couldn’t get no work to Magdalena. Things is in a goshly-gorful state in the printing business! I done walked here, aiming to make for Saint Johns, over the Arizony line. Seein’s you’re headed that way, ma’am, if ye could give me a lift——”
“Walked here, did ye?” cut in a voice strange to Ross. “Had any vittles?”