“I reckon she is, with the help of Len Ayres and them two old jiggers that made Baggs so uncomfortable.”
“Len Ayres is my father,” said Larry.
“Yeah, that’s right, Larry,” agreed Breezy. He turned to Hashknife. “I’m gettin’ hungry, and I hate to eat alone; will you boys join me?”
“I reckon we can eat,” grinned Hashknife, and they walked up to a restaurant, where Larry left them.
Breezy was rightly named. He loved to talk, and during the hour he spent in the restaurant with Hashknife and Sleepy, he gave them a résumé of Lobo Wells for the past five years. He talked until even the bland-faced Chinese waiter wondered what it was all about, because cowboys usually bolted their food and finished in haste.
“And nobody ever did find Len Ayres’s cache, eh?” queried Hashknife.
“If they did, they never told anybody. Why, even after Len’s wife married Prentice and sold Len’s old ranch, they tore up the floors and dug all around the place. I reckon they had an idea he cached the money near home. He’s back again now, and he’s the only one who knows where it is.”
“I suppose the sheriff is keepin’ a watch on Ayres, eh?”
“He’d have a swell chance, Hartley,” Breezy said.
“Yeah, that’s true. Not a chance in a million.”