"Howdy, friend."
Joe turned to face a man as tall as he was, and as wide through the middle as he was tall. He had sparse hair, shrewd eyes, a pudgy nose, and flabby lips behind which gold teeth flashed. A frayed, unlighted cigar was clutched firmly in his teeth, Joe said,
"Howdy."
"You're a mule man, huh?"
"Just wanted to keep that idiot from getting killed."
"You shouldn't have bothered; sooner or later he'll get killed anyhow. He told me he could gentle some mules."
"He must have used a club."
"He did. You Oregon-bound?"
"Yup."
"You'll never make it this season."