“What did you see?”
Phil puckered his face in disgust.
“Not much wildman there,” he remarked. “As far as I can see Hanson is sound asleep on a pile of coke. There are two empty bottles at his side. Seems to me he might be dead drunk.”
“That’s what he is, too.”
“Then let’s go in and throw a bucket of water over him and wake him up.”
“Not on your life! Then there would be a funeral. I guess you had better postpone your start till to-morrow. Only one man in Vernock can handle Hanson after he’s had a night of it, and that man’s the Mayor. Man to 78 man, Hanson has him shaded. With a rope in his hand, the Mayor is the best man.”
Voices behind them made them turn round.
Royce Pederstone and Mayor Brenchfield were riding down the side road as if on some definite bent. They were equipped as for a round-up.
“How do, Jim! Is this Hanson’s new apprentice?” asked Pederstone, bending over his horse and shaking hands genially with Phil.
“Glad to meet you, young man, and sorry this has happened on your first day. Hanson only goes on the toot once in a long while. You must just forget what you are going to see in a few minutes and think later only of what he shows you of blacksmithing.”