“That’s too bad, Harry; I hope he gets along all right.”
Cole looked sharply at him, but walked away without further conversation. Len held out his hand to Hashknife, as he said:
“I’ve got to be goin’ back, but I want yuh to know I appreciate what you did for me, Hartley. Come out to the Box S.”
“Thanks,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll see yuh later,” and then he turned back to the table and picked up his cue.
CHAPTER XII: FREE LANCES OF THE RANGE
The next few days were quiet ones in Lobo Wells. Hashknife and Sleepy met Silver Jim Prescott of the JP ranch, but he had no jobs open. It was the same with Oscar Knight, the little bow-legged owner of the OK outfit. He sized both men up seriously and told Hashknife frankly that he was sorry he didn’t have a job for them.
But the pair did not seem worried about the inability to secure work, and made no effort to move farther down the valley, where there were other cattle outfits. They spent much of their time at the Oasis, playing pool or poker, and loafing around the sheriff’s office, imbibing local colour and gossip from Breezy, who never seemed to run out of conversation.
Charley Prentice had narrowly succeeded in evading an attack of delirium tremens, but was now back at the liquor again. Hashknife had met him several times, but Prentice did not recognise him. Hashknife had been introduced to Amos Baggs, who was also drinking more than was good for him, which caused the Lobo Wells lawyer to appear morose and grim.
“I don’t like this place,” decided Sleepy. “Nothin’ ever happens around here, Hashknife. Another week in this town and I’ll start sproutin’ like a potato.”
Hashknife grinned slowly.