About an hour later Telescope comes in, and a little later Chuck drifts home.
“There seems to be a Jonah on this job,” states Telescope.
“What yuh limping about, Telescope?” asks Chuck.
“Hurt my knee. Reckon it’s a good thing the stage didn’t come down today, ’cause I’d ’a’ been a cripple in that picture. Slipped on a rock.”
“Stage didn’t come down?” I asks, and Telescope shakes his head.
“Nope. Me and Mister Ames was there for two hours after the time, but she don’t show up.”
“Didn’t come down?” wonders Chuck, aloud. “Didn’t go to Paradise?”
“She sure didn’t. Hadn’t been there when I left.”
Chuck looks foolish-like, and gets busy reading an old magazine. I notices that he’s got it upside down, but his lips are moving, so I reckon it don’t matter. He’s restless, and don’t sleep well that night.
The next morning, right after breakfast, up rides Bill McFee, our unworthy sheriff; Ricky Henderson, Art Miller and Al McGuire, who manages the ground work of the Golden Cross. Telescope limps over to greet them, and they seems a heap interested in Telescope’s walk.