"That's just it. But I'm thinkin' of the boy. Jim Waring's lived a big chunk of his life. But they ain't no use of the kid gettin' shot up. It figures fifty that I ought to get word to him, and fifty that I ought to keep him out of trouble—"
"I didn't know he was that kind of a chap: that is, that he would go out after those men—"
"He's Jim Waring's boy," said Bud.
"It's too bad. I heard of that other killing."
"Yes. And I've a darned good mind to fly over to Criswell myself. I knowed Pat better than I did Jim. But I can't ride like I used to. But"—and the supervisor sighed heavily—"I reckon I'll go just the same."
"I'll give your message to Adams, Mr. Shoop."
"All right. And tell him I want to see him. How's the little lady these days?"
"She seems to be much stronger, and she is in love with the hills and cañons."
"I'm right glad of that. Kind of wish I was up here myself. Why, already they're houndin' me down there to go into politics. I guess they want to get me out of this job, 'cause I can't hear crooked money jingle. My hands feels sticky ever' time I think of politics. And even if a fella's hands ain't sticky—politics money is. Why, it's like to stick to his feet if he ain't right careful where he walks!"
"I wish you would stay to dinner, Mr. Shoop."