There was silence again as they continued reading. The Virginian, just come from Sunk Creek, had seen no newspapers as recent as these. When two friends on meeting after absence can sit together for half an hour without a word passing between them, it is proof that they really enjoy each other’s company. The gentle air came in the window, bringing the tonic odor of the sage-brush. Outside the window stretched a yellow world to distant golden hills. The talkative voice of a magpie somewhere near at hand was the only sound.
“Nothing in the newspapers in particular,” said Scipio, finally.
“You expaictin’ something particular?” the Virginian asked.
“Yes.”
“Wish I knew what it is.”
“Always Horacles?”
“Always him—and Uncle. I’d like to spot Uncle.”
Mess call sounded from the parade ground. It recalled the flight of time to the Virginian.
“When you get back from Billings,” said Scipio, “you’re liable to find me up and around.”