“Thirty-two?” said Billy sharply. “You look more like twenty-five to me. S'pose we split the difference, eh?”
And with a grin he wrote: “Age twenty-two or three.”
“Business?”
“Trapper.”
“Good! The sheriff is pretty keen for 'em. You gents in that game got a sort of nose for the trail, mostly. All right, Cumber, you'll see Glass.”
He stood at the door.
“By the way, Cumber, is that straight about startin' your shot with your gun in the holster?”
“I s'pose it is.”
“You s'pose?” grunted the clerk. “Well, come on in.”
He banged once on the door and then threw it open. “Joe Cumber, Pete. And he drilled the ball startin' his gun out of the leather. Here's his card.”