“And he still owes me six-bits,” grinned Blaze. “I won that last game of pitch we played in jail, and set him twice. How is old Buck these days anyway?”
“Sorrowful. Election is next fall, and he’s scared that the reform element will beat him. I understand they’re groomin’ a Baptist preacher for sheriff. Oh, I tell yuh, Broad Arrow shore is lily-white. Buck’s supposed to make every puncher leave his gun at the office, but he ain’t enforcin’ it. He jist asks ’em to hang the gun where it won’t show.”
“The reform never hit Medicine Tree, did it?” asked Blaze.
“Nossir, it ain’t yet; but it will. I hope I meet a bad man who is quicker on the draw than I am, before that happens. Oncet, I was arrested in Los Angeles for spittin’ on the sidewalk, and since then I’ve been agin’ reform.”
Blaze laughed with Bad News and got to his feet.
“I reckon I’ll be driftin’ back, as soon as I stock up on some tobacco. If yuh see Buck Gillis⸺”
“Here come Buck now,” said Bad News, as they walked to the door.
The sheriff was dismounting at the doorway, a short, pudgy individual, wide of beam, with a moon-like countenance. He cocked his head on one side and studied Blaze critically. Finally he came over to the doorway and looked Blaze over at closer range.
“Yessir, it’s you,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “I dunno how you done it, pardner, but yuh did. Shake hands with me?”
“I’d shore like to, Buck.”