“What do you call this place?” inquired the elder man. There were sixteen houses on the bench below.
“Sunset,—Sunset Limited, some of us calls it. Say, Alvarado's knocked the spots out of us,—so's Last Pan, so's Buffalo Bend. Sunset Limited,—yes, sir, and that ain't no joke either!”
“Quiet?”
“You can hear a pin drop during rush hours. This is one of the rush hours, me going home to supper. That gives you the dimensions of the rush.” The young man laughed pleasantly. “My name's Johnny Severance,” he added, by way of introduction.
“Mine's Brown.”
“Huh,” said Johnny. “That's Brown's Peak you're looking at. Brown was an old-time scout; he stood off a bunch of Apaches here way back in the early days. They named the mountain after him.”
“You'll always meet plenty of Browns wherever you go,” said the owner of that name, in impartial judgment of its merits.
“It is awful common,” agreed Johnny. “You prospecting?”
Brown shook his head.
“Health, mebby?”