Whizzer shook his head. Brick lighted a cigaret and studied the youngster.
“Sleepy, Whizzer?”
“Nope. Say, when do I find my daddy?”
Brick sighed and shook his head sadly. He did not want to tell him now. Silent swore softly and counted the cartridge-heads in his belt.
“Want to take a ride to Silverton, buddy?” queried Brick.
“Sure.” Whizzer hopped off his chair and almost fell down. “My feet don’t feel good,” he told Brick. “They ache.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t take him plumb down there, Brick.” Thus Mrs. Wesson quickly. “He needs a bath and some good sleep.”
“I know it, Ma,” nodded Brick, “but I’ve got to take him. It might be kinda hard on Whizzer, but he’ll pull through.”
“Sure,” nodded Whizzer. “I’ll go.”
Mrs. Wesson grumbled to herself, as she wrapped him up in a light blanket. She knew that Brick must have a good reason for taking the youngster to Silverton; but she did want to clean him up a little.