“Y’betcha. I’ve got to grab a little sleep. We’ll probably pull out of here about noon. The boys were kinda fagged out, but they’ll be on deck.”
“I’ll go along,” volunteered Santel.
“Me, too,” said Grant quickly. “By grab, I hope we find that poor kid. He was a dinger of a little feller, Brick—him and his spurs.”
“He quit wearin’ spurs,” said Brick sadly. “He told me yesterday that stage-drivers didn’t wear spurs.”
“What was his name?” asked Santel.
“I dunno. Baldy called him ‘Whizzer.’”
Santel looked curiously at Brick, his eyes narrowed to slits, as if looking into a strong light. Then he turned away and looked across the street.
“Well, you go and grab an eye-full of sleep, Brick,” said Grant. “We’ll be ready to ride when you show up.”
Brick nodded and went back to the office. Harp and Silent were already stretched out on the two cots and were snoring a duet. Brick went into the back room and kicked off his boots. He was half-asleep before he stretched out on the bed, but his mind was running in wide circles.
“Who is Santel?” he asked himself. “Why did he act that-a-way when he looked at Baldy Malloy?”