“Lookin’ for trouble, eh?” smiled Hashknife.
“I dunno. Minnie says he’s got trouble inside. What does she mean by that?”
“He ain’t sick, is he, Larry?”
“He never had any doctor.”
“Uh-huh,” thoughtfully. “Well, Larry, I reckon the kite ain’t a success.”
“I guess we better wait for a wind, Mr. Hartley.”
Larry leaned the kite against a fence post and walked back to the main street with Hashknife, where they met Breezy Hill, the deputy sheriff. Larry managed the introduction very well, and the two men grinned at each other as they shook hands.
“We been tryin’ to fly a kite, Breezy,” explained Larry.
Breezy grinned. “That’s shore fun. I ’member once down in southern Kansas, when me and another feller flew a kite. He made it out of half-inch hardwood strips, covered it with rawhide, and hooked on a hundred and fifty feet of half-inch rope. Then I tied off on my saddle-horn and went straight into the wind. I got my right arm broke and lost a sixty-dollar saddle. Ho, ho, ho! They have wind in Kansas!”
“I wish we had wind here,” sighed Larry.