"That's th' total o' Colt," he answered. "It ain't exactly astoundin', is it?"
Danny shook his head slowly.
"Not exactly," he agreed. "Let's go up and look it over."
An amused curiosity drove out some of the misery that had been in his pallid countenance.
"Sure, come along an' inspect our metropolis!" invited the little man, and they struck off through the sagebrush.
Danny's long, free stride made the other hustle, and the contrast between them was great; the one tall and broad and athletic of poise in spite of the shoulders, which were not back to their full degree of squareness; the other, short and bowlegged and muscle-bound by years in the saddle, taking two steps to his pacemaker's one.
They attracted attention as they neared the store buildings. A man in riding garb came to the door of a primitive clothing establishment, looked, stepped back, and emerged once more. A moment later two others joined him, and they stared frankly at Danny and his companion.
A man on horseback swung out into the broad street, and as he rode away from them turned in his saddle to look at the pair. A woman ran down the post-office steps and halted her hurried progress for a lingering glance at Danny. The boy noticed it all.
"I'm attracting attention," he said to the little man, and smiled as though embarrassed.
"Aw, these squashies ain't got no manners," the other apologized. "They set out in there dog-gone hills an' look down badger holes so much that they git loco when somethin' new comes along."