"Sheriff must 'a' been out of town and got back just in time to meet up with Sundown," suggested Wingle. And he seized a scoop and dug into the flour barrel.
An hour later the buckboard stood at the ranch gate. Bud Shoop, crooning a range-ditty that has not as yet disgraced an anthology, stood flicking the rear wheel with his whip:—
"Oh, that biscuit-shooter on the Santa Fé,
—Hot coffee, ham-and-eggs, huckleberry pies,—
Got every lonely puncher that went down that way
With her yella-bird hair and them big blue eyes…
"For a two-bit feed and a two-bit smile…"
The song was interrupted by the appearance of Corliss, who swung to the seat and took the reins.
"I'll jog 'em for a while," he said as Shoop climbed beside him. "Go ahead, Bud. Don't mind me."
Shoop laughed and gestured over his shoulder. "Chance, there, is sleepin' with both fists this lovely mornin'. Wonder how Sun is makin' it?"
"We'll find out," said Corliss, shaking his head.
"Believe us! For we're goin' to town! Say, ain't you kind of offerin' Jim Banks a chance to get you easy?"
"If he wants to. If he locked Sundown up, he made the wrong move."