Breezy tipped his hat over one eye as he scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Yeah, there’s somethin’ in that, too. Lordy, it shore gave the folks a shock. Amos Baggs almost fell in the hole—and I reached for a shovel. It ain’t right to say it, but I’ve always hankered for a chance to pat him in the face with a shovel. He makes me mad, jist to look at him. Wait till I git my horse, and I’ll walk back with yuh.”
They found Larry at the sheriff’s office, talking with Dillon, when they came back. The sheriff was trying to find out whether any one had made plans for the boy. He seemed just a little bewildered, but grinned at Hashknife.
“I’m still waitin’ for the wind to come along,” he said.
“That’s fine,” grinned Hashknife. “When she comes, we’ll shore fly that kite, Larry.”
“Y’betcha.”
“I had a talk with Grant,” said the sheriff, “and as far as he knows, Prentice didn’t leave a dollar. Gambled quite a lot, and the luck usually went against him. I dunno what about this boy.”
“I’ll betcha I know,” grinned Breezy. “Larry would like to go out to the Box S and live with his dad.”
Larry looked earnestly at Breezy for several moments, but finally shook his head.
“Yuh don’t?” Breezy was astonished.