“What’s that? Roger, eh? You mean Rathburn is here?”
The old man peered at the visitor from the doorway, his lean face twitching. He stroked his gray beard in indecision. His blue eyes looked long at Rathburn, then at the girl, and lastly at the gun and belt on the table.
“Well, hello, Rathburn,” he said finally, advancing into the room. He held out a hand which Rathburn grasped.
“Did you eat yet?” asked Mallory.
“In the hills with Joe Price,” replied Rathburn. “But I’m just as much obliged.”
“Yes, of course,” Mallory muttered. “With Joe, eh? He ain’t been down in months. How is he?”
“Looks good as a gold mine an’ thinks he’s found one,” said Rathburn, looking at the girl’s father curiously.
“That’s what keeps him up,” Mallory asserted loudly. “He’ll never get old as long as he thinks he’s got a mine corralled. He ought to try stock raisin’ for a while. You look older, Rathburn––more filled out. Are you still cutting ’em high, wide, an’ handsome?”
Rathburn’s face clouded.