The young man lazily crossed his legs. "Nice and cool here," he remarked presently.
"Been in town long?" asked Sweeney.
"No, only a few days."
"I was goin' to say there's a good show over on Spring Street—movin'-pictures of the best ridin' and buckin' and ropin' I seen yet."
"Yes? Is there any one in town who is not working for the movies?"
Again Sweeney Orcutt smiled his thin-lipped smile. "Yes, I guess there is. I might scare up one or two I used to know who is workin' the transients, which ain't exactly workin' for the movies."
"I should like to meet some character who is really doing something in earnest; that is, some cowboy, miner, prospector, teamster,—one of those twenty-mule-team kind, you know,—or any such chap. Why, even the real estate men that have been up to my hotel seem to be acting a part. One expects every minute to see one of them pull a gun and hold up a fellow. No doubt they mean business."
"Bank on that," said Orcutt dryly.
"You see," continued the young man, "I have too much time on my hands just now. The doctors tell me to rest, and I've been doing nothing else all my life. It's pretty monotonous. I've tried to get interested in some of the chaps on North Main Street, and around the plaza. I've offered to buy them drinks and all that, but they seem to shy off. I suppose they think I'm a detective or something of that kind."
"More like, a newspaper man after a story. Hello, there! Now, what's doin'?"