"Suppose I was to make a break—when we git outside?" said Pete.
Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That little nurse, the one with the gray eyes—that said you were having dinner—is she your reg'lar nurse?"
Pete nodded.
"Well, you won't," said the sheriff.
"How's that?" queried Pete.
"I talked with her. Sensible girl. Break her all up if her patient was to make a break:—because"—and the sheriff's eyes ceased to twinkle, although he still smiled—"because I'd have to break you all up. Hate to do it. Hate to make her feel bad."
"Oh, shucks," said Pete.
"You're right—shucks. That's what you'd look like. I pack a forty-five—same as you. We can buy a hat—"
"I'll get it." And Pete left the room.
He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not come half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding Pete. But Pete understood one thing—and that was that Jim Owen was not an easy proposition to fool with.