“I see the route leads along the Ute reservation,” continued Roy. “Is it safe to go that way?”
“It’s as safe goin’ as comin’. Either way ’tain’t what ye might call no Lovers’ Lane fur peace and quiet.”
“Do you know a good guide?” continued Roy, a little surprised. He had rather imagined that Indian apprehension existed mainly in the east.
“Yes,” said Colonel Weston suddenly. He was about to say more when his sober face took on a smile. Stepping to a desk, he searched in the mess of odds and ends until he found a reasonably clean sheet of paper. On this he printed something and then stepped into the hall and attached the sheet to the outside of the door.
This done, he picked up Roy’s suit case and exclaimed:
“Ye ain’t had no dinner, hev ye?”
The lad remembered that he had not, and that he was suddenly ravenously hungry.
“I got a wife,” added Colonel Weston; “’tain’t fur. We’ll go home an’ git some chuck.”
As they stepped into the hall, Roy looked at the sign on the door. It read:
“Back when I git here. Address Sink Weston, Bluff, Utah.”