The anger died out of Gordon's eyes and he began to laugh. With some diffidence he accepted the money.
"Say, it's—mighty decent of you," he cried cordially. Then, for want of better means of expression, "Mighty decent."
The two men stood steadily regarding each other. Tall and broad as Gordon was, the stranger was no less. But he added to his stature the massiveness of additional years.
Gordon's feelings were under perfect control now. His eyes began to brighten with their native humor. He was longing to solve the mystery of that eye-shade which had disappeared from his companion's face, but was constrained to check his curiosity.
"You said you guessed how the scrap would end?" he said. "There's a sort of blank in my—memory. I mean about the finish."
The big stranger began to rumble in his throat. To Gordon the sound was comforting in its wholesome enjoyment.
"It don't need a heap of guessing when a train 'sharp,' who's got the conductor grafted from his brassbound cap to the soles of his rotten feet, gets into a scrap how things are going to end. I'd sort of hoped you'd 'out' him before the crew come along. Guess you'd have done it if there'd been more room. That's the worst of scrappin' in a railroad car," he added regretfully. "That train boss got along with his crew and threw you out—on your head. They kept the 'sharp' aboard, being well grafted, and figgered to hold up your baggage. I guessed diff'rently. That all your baggage?" he inquired anxiously.
Gordon gazed down at the grip and coat.
"That's all," he said. Then he impulsively threw out a hand, and the stranger took it. "It's decent—mighty decent of you." Again his buoyant laugh rang out. "Say, I surely do seem to have had some good time."
The twinkling eyes of the stranger nearly closed up in a cordial grin.