“It ain’t very fast, Sleepy. But ain’t it restful?”
“Yeah, it’s shore restful.”
“All my life I’ve wished for a peaceful town. This is it, Sleepy; Peaceful Town. Lobo Wells sounds like a place where things might happen, but she’s misnamed. Mebbe.”
“Why the mebbe, cowboy?”
“Who knows what’s under the surface? Consider dynamite; it’s just a brown cylinder. Just about as dangerous as a stick of wood, unless yuh monkey with it. Never judge anythin’ by what yuh can see, Sleepy. And for a change I’d suggest that me and you ride out to the Box S.”
“Suits me. Anythin’ to get away from this town.”
Whispering Taylor looked upon them with suspicion until it dawned upon him that Hashknife was the tall stranger who had prevented Charley Prentice from shooting Len Ayres. Len had told him about the incident.
“I’m Whisperin’ Taylor,” he told Hashknife. “Len and Sailor are out in the hills some’eres to-day. Git down and rest yore feet. I’m bakin’ some apple pies and there’ll be a-plenty for everybody. Tie yore broncs in the stable and heave a few oats into ’em.”
Nan, hearing voices, came out on the porch, and Whispering managed to perform a sort of introduction, after which he headed for the woodpile in a hurry.
“Len told me about you,” smiled Nan. “I’m glad you came out to see us.”