“Say, ain’t that funny? You did hit it, didn’t you, Cock Eye? You jes’ knowed it was for a baby— Huh! Water, too. Say, tha’s funny, ain’t it? Cock Eye spots a feller wants an empty bottle f’r a baby. What’d he want a clean bottle f’r, anyhow?”
“He didn’t know’t was for a warmer. He thought it was to feed the kid out of. Old woman sent him for it. He come here.”
“Tha’s funny—come here f’r an empty bottle!” one of the boys laughed. “Le’s have a drink!”
Around the Square in Boxelder the boys told about Cock Eye, the empty bottle and the stroller down at the campground, where there was a lady had a baby. The stranger again came uptown and shambled to the Emporium, went to the post office and headed down the creek to the camp, his arms carrying packages. He was pointed out, and people laughed. He was the fellow who asked Cock Eye for an empty bottle. That was funny. He wanted it to put on a baby’s stomach, too.
“Who are you?” The city marshal, Pete Culder, softened his insult to the stranger by adding, “If it’s any of my business?”
“Why, my name’s Frank Hesbern,” the man answered readily enough. “I’m kind of looking around for a new country to settle in.”
“Understand you got a baby with the stomach ache?”
“Me? Oh, my, no! ’Tain’t my baby. I never did get to marry. It’s a lady’s. She’s camped on the flat. The man he’s sickly. The old lady asked me to get an empty flat bottle to put on the kid’s stomach, tha’s all.”
“I see—” Culder nodded—“that’s funny!”