"I am Roy Pierce, foreman for McCoy, a cattleman north of here."
"Was it really a band of Indians?"
"Naw. Only a bunch of cow-punchers on a bat."
"You mean cowboys?"
"That's what. It's their little way of havin' fun. I reckon they didn't know you was here. I didn't. Who's sick?"
"My uncle."
"You mean the postmaster?"
"Yes."
"When was he took?"
"Last night. They telegraphed me about six o'clock. I didn't get here till this morning—I mean yesterday morning."