“Sleep,” said Hashknife. “No use worryin’ about that train. It’s gone, thassall.”
“Yeah, it’s gone, that’s a cinch. Where are you fellers from?”
The sheriff knew better than to ask that question, and did not expect an answer.
“From the cattle-train,” said Sleepy after a pause. It was more than the sheriff expected.
A man was coming down the sidewalk, and as he came into the lights of the saloon windows they saw that he was the depot agent. He stopped and peered at them.
“I was wonderin’ if I’d find you,” he said, a trifle out of breath. “One of them cattle-cars got derailed just out of Turkey Track sidin’, and they’re held up for a while. It ain’t more than six or seven miles out there.”
“A nice long walk,” observed Hashknife.
“I can fix that,” said the sheriff quickly. “I’ll let yuh have a couple of horses and saddles. Yuh can leave ’em tied to the loadin’ corral and I’ll get ’em tomorrow.”
“Now that’s danged nice of yuh,” agreed Hashknife. “We’ll take yuh up on that, and thank yuh kindly. Let’s go.”
The sheriff led the way to his stable, where they secured two horses and saddles.