“Well,” Len said finally, “I reckon I’ll go out to the Box S, Johnny.”
“How are yuh goin’, Len?”
“Walk, I reckon. Ain’t been on a horse for a long time.”
“Ain’t scared to ride, are yuh?” smiled Johnny. Len had been one of their best riders.
“No-o, I ain’t scared.”
“I’ll get yuh a bronc at the livery stable, Len. Never mind about the money. You’d do it for me. C’mon.”
Johnny secured a horse and saddle at the stable, and Len climbed into a saddle for the first time in five years. The stable keeper was a man who had come to Lobo Wells after Len had been sent to the penitentiary, but he had heard men tell of Len Ayres, the single-handed bandit.
“So that’s Len Ayres, eh?” he said to Johnny. “Well, he don’t look so mean.”
“He ain’t mean,” replied Johnny quickly. “There ain’t a mean bone in his body.”
“Jist looks kinda sour, thasall.”