"Molly would come out," apologized Jim, "only the kid is—is grazin'. How's the feed holdin' out on the Concho?" which question following in natural sequence was not, however, put accidentally.
"Fair," said Corliss. "We looked for you up that way."
"I was over on the Reservation. I sent Tom up there to see after things," and the sheriff gestured toward the distant Concho. "Sent him up to-night. Let's go over to the office."
Corliss shook his head. "Don't want to see him, just now. Besides, I want to say a few things private."
"All right. There was a buyer from Kansas City dropped in to town to-day. Didn't see him, did you?"
"Cattle?"
"Uhuh."
"No. We just got in."
They turned and walked up the street, nodding to an occasional lounger, laughing and talking easily, yet each knew that their banter was a meandering current leading to something deeper which would be sounded before they separated.
Sheriff Banks suddenly stopped and slapped his thigh. "By Gum! I clean forgot to ask if you had chuck. You see that kid of mine—"