They walked to the patio gate and watched Barnhardt ride away, sitting stiffly in his saddle, his horse trotting, every jerk of which drew Barnhardt’s trousers up nearer his knees, and caused his ill-fitting sombrero to shift from side to side.
“Looks like the joker in a deck of playin’-cards,” observed Sleepy.
“He means well, I think,” said Marion, as they turned back.
“Means well to Lee Barnhardt,” smiled Hashknife.
“I don’t like him,” said Jimmy. “Oh, it isn’t because of anything he has ever done to me,” he hastened to say. “But it is just something about him that—well, I don’t like him.”
“Shall we show our new member to the bunk-house?” asked Hashknife. “I like him a lot better, since I’ve heard he don’t like lawyers.”
“Oh, my remark does not cover the entire profession,” said Jimmy quickly.
Marion laughed and went into the house, while Hashknife and Sleepy introduced Jimmy to the bunk-house. They sat down and rolled cigarets. Jimmy was not very adept, but he managed to make his own smoke.
“You know Miss Taylor pretty well, don’tcha?” asked Hashknife.
Jimmy colored quickly.