“But they aren’t doing any.”
“Can’t help that,” said Carhart. “No more—no more!” And with Young Van he walked off toward the Frisco.
After the dinner the party broke up. Flint and Haddon went West with the Chicago and Southern California officials. The others, who were to start eastward in the late evening, rode off for a shoot on the plains. And it fell out that Carhart and Young Van, who had, from different motives, declined the ride, were left together at the hotel.
“What are you going to do now, Gus?” asked the chief.
Young Van hesitated, then gave way to a nervous smile. Carhart glanced keenly at him, and observed that he had lost color and that the pupils of his eyes were dilated. Now that the strain was over he was himself conscious of a severe physical let-down, and he was not surprised to learn that his assistant was completely unstrung.
Neither was he surprised to hear this hesitating yet perfectly honest reply: “I’ve been thinking I’d start at the first saloon and drink to the other end of town. Want to come along?”
“No,” Carhart replied, “I don’t believe I will, thanks. I meant to ask what work you plan to take up next?”
“Nothing at all.”