“Wal,” retorted Arizona, bending to his work again, “I do allow ther’s more savee in that tip than most gener’ly slobbers off’n your tongue. I’ll kind o’ turn it over some.”
Jacob’s grin broadened. “Guess I should. Your plug ain’t been saddled sence you wus sent sick. Soft soap ain’t gener’ly in your line; makes me laff to see you handlin’ it.”
“That’s so,” observed the other, imperturbably. “I ’lows it has its uses. ’Tain’t bad fer washin’. Guess you ain’t tried it any?”
At that moment Raw Harris came across from the barn. He lounged over to an upturned box and sat down.
“Any o’ you fellers seen Joe Nelson along yet?” he asked as he leisurely filled his pipe.
“Five hours overdue,” said Tresler, who was cleaning out the chambers of his revolver.
“Joe ain’t likely to git back this night,” observed Arizona. “He’s a terror when he gits alongside a saloon. Guess he’s drank out one ranch of his own down Texas way. He’s the all-firedest bag o’ tricks I’ve ever see. Soft as a babby is Joe. Honest? Wal, I’d smile. Joe’s that honest he’d give up his socks ef the old sheep came along an’ claimed the wool. Him an’ me’s worked together ’fore. He’s gittin’ kind o’ old, an’ ain’t as handy as he used to be. Say, he never told you ’bout that temperator feller, Tresler, did he?”
Tresler shook his head, and paused in his work to relight his pipe.
“It kind o’ minds me to tell you sence we’re talkin’ o’ Joe. It likely shows my meanin’ when I sez he’s that soft an’ honest, an’ yet crazy fer drink. You see, it wus this a-ways. I wus kind o’ foreman o’ the ‘U bar U’s’ in Canada, an’ Joe wus punchin’ cows then. The boys wus sheer grit; good hands, mind you, but sudden-like.”
Arizona ceased plastering the soap on his saddle and stood erect. His gaunt figure looked leaner than ever, but his face was alight with interest in the story he was about to narrate, and his great wild eyes were shining with a look that suggested a sort of fierce amusement. Teddy Jinks lounged into view and stood propped against an angle of the building.