“Oh, I forgot about that. We have always used the X Bar 6 outfit wagons. Tex Alden has always insisted that our outfit was too small to run their own chuck-wagon. But this year—”
Marion’s pause was significant. Hashknife realized that everything was not right between the Taylor family and Alden.
“He didn’t invite yuh to share his chuck, eh?”
Marion shook her head slowly.
“I guess we’ll get along all right.”
“Y’betcha,” warmly. “We’ll kinda look things over, Miss Taylor.”
“And now that we’re well enough acquainted for you to call me Marion—”
“Oh, all right,” laughed Hashknife.
He joined Sleepy in the patio, and they inspected the stables and corrals, with Apollo following them like a dog, trying to nip the brims of their hats.
It was possibly half an hour later that Lee Barnhardt rode in at the ranch, and the Blue Wells attorney was a sight for sore eyes. His mount was a sway-backed sorrel, with a long neck and a whispy tail. Barnhardt did not wear chaps, and the action of the horse had wrinkled his trousers, until the bottoms were up to his knees, showing an expanse of skinny leg and a pair of mismated socks. On his head he wore a sombrero, which was too small for him, and a flannel shirt, so large around the neck that one could easily catch a glimpse of his collar-bone.