Cold Feet leaned forward, eagerness in his eyes. "Tell me about him!"
"I don't know you well enough, son."
That jarring speech thrust Jig back into his chair, as if with a physical hand. There, as though in covert, he continued to study Sinclair. Presently he began to nod.
"I knew it from the first, in spite of appearances."
"Knew what?"
"Knew that we'd get along."
"And are we getting along, Jig?"
"I think so."
"Glad of that," muttered the cowpuncher dryly.
"Ah," cried John Gaspar, "you're not as hard as you seem. One of these days I'll prove it. Besides, you won't forget me."