Nate pricked up his ears.
“I was wondering why you were here,” said he.
“We’ve come to see Bloom, the sheriff.”
“Bloom’s travelin’ this-a-way as fast as his legs kin kerry him,” spoke up Nomad, taking a squint through the door and up the street.
“Then here’s where I pull out,” said Nate. “There’s no love lost between Bloom and me, and if I met him now and he gave me any of his back talk, the fur would fly. Be back to the ranch soon, Buffalo Bill?”
“To-morrow, I hope.”
Dunbar left the hotel by a rear door. Old Nomad, with a queer grin on his weather-beaten face, pushed into the office and dropped on a chair.
“Now fer more peacemakin’,” he remarked, “an’ from ther looks o’ ther sher’ff, I reckon et’ll be real saloobrious. I’m fixin’ ter enjoy what’s comin’, I am so.”
“There’ll be no trouble,” said the scout, himself taking a seat.
“Waal, ef thar is, I shore reckon they’ll hev ter git another sher’ff ter bloom in this man’s berg.”