"Where to?" asked the conductor again. "Got reservations?"
"Bound for Boville, New Mexico. On the El Paso and Southwestern. What's the charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa to make the train."
Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he grinned in the light of the conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more than ordinary currency. It stamped him bona-fide, certified his character. The conductor's profession made him apt at such endorsements.
"We take you to Phoenix," he said. "Change there for El Paso. I can give you a spare upper for the lady."
Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the Pullman Afro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even more at Sandy.
"Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed for you, Molly. See you in the morning."
He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to the already curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder but she never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so a hundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but, even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She never turned a hair or shied."
He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently the conductor came in to go over his batch of tickets and accounts.
"Cattle?" he asked Sandy.
"Yes, sir. Three Star Ranch, nigh to Hereford."