Brick wiped away his tears and was about to tell them what had happened the night before, when Silent knocked loudly at the front door.
“What happened to little Harp Harris?” he asked. “I met him up the street and asked him what you wanted. He said he didn’t care a what you wanted, but he knew what you was goin’ to get.”
“He’s got indigestion,” said Mrs. Wesson. “He told me the other day that he had it real bad. You know that upsets a man somethin’ awful. I’d sure hate to marry a man that has indigestion. I sure know what it’s like, ’cause Cale has touches of it.”
“I never had anythin’ like that in my life!” snorted Cale.
“I’ll betcha yuh got it right now,” grinned Brick. “Anybody that would speak to Ma Wesson that-a-way has got stummick trouble.”
Cale picked up his hat and started for the door.
“All right, all right! I s’pose I’ve got to stand for it. If I’d ’a’ had any sense I’d never invited the sheriff’s office to settle down in my house. Between Ma and Brick, I’ll prob’ly have to pitch a tent, if I want to have any peace.”
“Didja want me, Brick?” queried Silent, “or is that part of the joke?”
Brick laughed and shook his head.
“I was just wonderin’ if you’d like to ride to Silverton with me this evenin’.”