Trowbridge smote his thigh.
“I get yuh now,” he stated. “Isn’t Sleepy the hombre that had a run-in with some would-be bad men up in Barnes City a few months ago?”
“He’s the one,” said Pop Cravath, wiping the sweat from his bald spot with a voluminous khaki handkerchief.
Spears’ drooping eyelids were raised to look at the little group. A slow smile stretched the already wide mouth.
“Meet Sheriff Trowbridge, Sleepy,” said Perkins.
“Delighted. I’ve heard several mouthfuls about you, Sheriff,” said Sleepy.
“Did you break the ‘Bee’?” inquired Trowbridge solemnly.
“They took advantage of us,” sighed Sleepy. “They fed us Benedictine and Mescal. The last I remember was shooting two hundred at the crap-table and then bursting into ribald grief when two sixes turned up. We woke up in the alley alongside the Laredo House this morning.”
Captain Perkins’s lean, square-jawed face was crossed with varying expressions of merriment, wonder, and disapproval. Apparently the Captain was completely puzzled—unable to understand the facets in his flyers’ characters.
“I’ve got to meet the four-ten from San Antone,” said the Sheriff, suddenly. “My old friend George Bilney is comin’ in. Say, I’m going to bring George out here this evenin’, mebbe. He’s station agent and storekeeper up here at Willett. He’s only in town to the back train at ten, but he’s got a daughter you boys ought to meet. She’s the Queen of Sheba, and likewise the Lily of the Valley.”