“Let’s all be good friends, eh?” suggested the bartender, lifting a bottle to the top of the bar. “Election ain’t nothin’ between friends.”
Silent squinted gravely at the bartender.
“Li’l dove of peace, this ain’t between friends.”
“Well, I’m not goin’ to quarrel with you, Slade,” said Leach. “Yo’ve got your own opinions on the matter.”
“You ain’t goin’ to quarrel with me?” Silent seemed sad over the information. “You ain’t? Well, I won’t quarrel with the bartender; so I guess I’ll go home. My , I’m sorry yuh won’t quarrel with me, Leach. I’m feelin’ quarrelsome, I am.”
Silent adjusted his hat to his satisfaction and walked out of the door, heading straight for the hitch-rack. It was almost midnight, and Marlin City was truly a deserted village. At the hitch-rack Silent stopped and studied the situation. His horse was not there.
Just to be doubly sure he put his hand on the rail of the rack and walked all the way around it.
“If there was a horse there I’d encounter same,” he said aloud. “The question is this: Where’s my horse?”
As far as he could see there was not a horse at any of the hitch-racks. He deliberated deeply. It might be that someone had put the horse in the livery-stable, he thought. Perhaps Brick and Harp had done this as a joke.
He wended his way to the stable and woke up the stableman, who swore witheringly at Silent for dumping him off his cot.