“Are you one of them fellers who believes that everythin’ is cut out for people?” Breezy asked. “That it don’t make no difference how careful yuh are, nor how wise yuh are?”
“Somethin’ like that,” nodded the tall cowboy. “There’s a Big Book somewhere with it all written down. On that book is the things yuh are to do and how yuh finish. You can’t dodge it, Hill.”
“Yuh mean that yuh can’t help bein’ what yuh are and doin’ what yuh do, Hartley?”
“You shore can’t.”
“Hm-m-m-m,” thoughtfully. “It seems to me that when yuh feel thataway about life, yuh can forgive folks for what they do.”
“Why not?”
“Well, that’s kinda human, Hartley. But from what I’ve seen and heard in my life, yore lodge ain’t got a hell of a big membership. Let’s go over and meet Ben Dillon. He’s hawg-fat and he ain’t so awful smart, but he’s human enough and lazy enough to forgive anybody. If you boys are lookin’ for jobs, I’ll see Silver Prescott for yuh. He owns the JP outfit, and he’s a good man.
“And there’s Oscar Knight’s OK outfit. He don’t use so many men as Silver Jim does, but he’s plumb white man. Of course, the Box S is out of the question, unless Baggs manages to git them two old men fired, which I hope he don’t. It wouldn’t be the Box S without them two old terriers. Whisperin’ Taylor does the cookin’, while Sailor Jones cuts the wood, does the horse wranglin’, and helps with the ridin’. And there ain’t a minute when they’re together that they don’t quarrel. But lemme tell yuh this much—don’t pick on one of ’em when the other is in hearin’ distance.”
Hashknife and Sleepy laughed, as the three walked across the street to the sheriff’s little office.
Ben Dillon did not prove as communicative as Breezy Hill. While being good-natured and friendly, Dillon was inclined to be just a little reserved with strangers. Breezy explained that Hashknife and Sleepy were looking for jobs with some outfit, which seemed reasonable to the sheriff.