“Well, that’s kinda soft language for him,” laughed Jimmy. “He hates me because I’m such a success. Right now I’m just one jump ahead of the sheriff. Ain’t that right, Roarin’?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Jimmy.”
Jimmy was facing the door. Suddenly he slid away from the table, grabbed his hat from a nail on the wall and headed for the door. Roaring twisted his head around and looked toward the front window in time to see Dawn Conley ride past in the rickety old buggy. Jimmy was already outside.
“Bet she came back to see you, Roarin’,” said Wind River. “She was at the office this mornin’, and she told Ryker her old man was gunnin’ for anybody that showed up on his ranch. I reckon she was a little nervous.”
Wind River walked to the window and looked out, but he came right back, nodding his head.
“Her and Jimmy are in front of the office, talkin’.”
Roaring was staring at his plate; his lips shut tightly. Hashknife watched the expression of his face, as he lifted his eyes slowly and cleared his throat.
“That’s all right,” he said, trying to make his tone indifferent. “They’ve prob’ly got things to talk about.”
The men resumed their meal, but something had caused the conversation to lag. It was possibly ten minutes later when Jimmy came in. He sat down across the table from the sheriff, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands.
“Roarin’,” he said slowly, “Dawn wants to see you.”