“Pete has learned me and Sidney a lot,” pursued Billy, engagingly.
“I'll bet he has!” growled the cow-puncher; and again Billy was taken aback at his language.
It was not so simple, this case. To the perturbed mind of Mr. McLean it grew less simple during that day at Golden, while Billy recovered, and talked, and ate his innocent meals. The cow-puncher was far too wise to think for a single moment of restoring the runaway to his debauched and shiftless parents. Possessed of some imagination, he went through a scene in which he appeared at the Lusk threshold with Billy and forgiveness, and intruded upon a conjugal assault and battery. “Shucks!” said he. “The kid would be off again inside a week. And I don't want him there, anyway.”
Denver, upon the following day, saw the little bootblack again at his corner, with his trade not lost; but near him stood a tall, singular man, with hazel eyes and a sulky expression. And citizens during that week noticed, as a new sight in the streets, the tall man and the little boy walking together. Sometimes they would be in shops. The boy seemed as happy as possible, talking constantly, while the man seldom said a word, and his face was serious.
Upon New-year's Eve Governor Barker was overtaken by Mr. McLean riding a horse up Hill Street, Cheyenne.
“Hello!” said Barker, staring humorously through his glasses. “Have a good drunk?”
“Changed my mind,” said Lin, grinning. “Proves I've got one. Struck Christmas all right, though.”
“Who's your friend?” inquired his Excellency.
“This is Mister Billy Lusk. Him and me have agreed that towns ain't nice to live in. If Judge Henry's foreman and his wife won't board him at Sunk Creek—why, I'll fix it somehow.”
The cow-puncher and his Responsibility rode on together toward the open plain.