The train was late that afternoon. It had taken a long time to clear away the wreck. Hashknife was alone at the depot, when Sleepy climbed off the train, a wide grin on his face. He had Moran’s two valises, but Moran had told Hashknife to leave them at the depot, because he and Regan were going back to the Big 4.
“I was sure glad to see this train pull in at Sibley,” grinned Sleepy. “That bartender drove me wild. When he ran out of talk about himself, he read out loud from his book. Where’s the horses?”
“Tied to a hitch-rack up the street, Sleepy.”
“Uh-huh,” Sleepy’s blue eyes studied Hashknife seriously.
“How soon do we pull out, Hashknife?”
“Most any time, I reckon.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed in surprise.
Sleepy was rather taken aback. Hashknife lighted a cigaret and sat down on the rear platform of the depot.
“Remember Ed Holmes, the remittance man, who bootlegged hooch to the Flatheads, Sleepy?” he asked.
“Holmes? Lemme see—Holmes. Remittance man, oh yeah.”