The cowboy relaxed slightly and seemed undecided. He had not expected this from a sheep-herder, and he wanted to back out gracefully.
“You jist toddle along,” smiled Skeeter. “You don’t need t’ be afraid t’ turn yore back t’ me.”
“You can’t run no blazer on me!” snapped the cowboy, as if trying to bolster up his courage with the sound of his own voice.
“I betcha yo’re right,” agreed Skeeter. “I ain’t never goin’ t’ try it, pardner. When I talk t’ you, I mean every —— word I say.”
The cowboy growled something under his breath and turned back across the street toward a saloon. The rest of the cowboys sauntered on, talking softly among themselves and glancing back toward the saloon. Skeeter made a bet with himself that this loud-talking cowboy had disrated himself in their minds. He climbed down, tied his horse and went into the store.
Some of the cowboys were sitting on a counter when Skeeter came in, but paid no attention to him. The storekeeper, who was behind a counter arranging some goods, also paid no attention to Skeeter as he leaned negligently against the counter and whistled unmusically between his teeth.
The cowboys had ceased their conversation, and the place was quiet except for Skeeter’s tuneless whistle. Finally the storekeeper turned and looked at Skeeter, who slid a penciled list of the necessary groceries across the counter to him.
The storekeeper glanced down at the sizable list for a moment and then at Skeeter.
“Sheep outfit?” he asked.
Skeeter nodded, and the man shoved the list back to Skeeter.