‘Uh-huh; sellin’ things.’
‘I haven’t anything to sell,’ smiled Rex. ‘No, I am merely going to Mesa City out of curiosity.’
‘Horned-frawgs! Curiosity? Mm-m-m-m-m, well.’ He spat again and scratched his stubbled jaw. ‘It ain’t none of my business. Fare’s two dollars.’
Rex dug deep in his pocket and drew out five dollars in change, from which he separated two dollars. Bunty watched him curiously.
As Rex pocketed the remaining three dollars, Bunty rubbed his chin again and considered Rex gravely.
‘It ain’t none of my business,’ he said slowly, ‘but have you got any money?’
‘I’ve still got three dollars,’ said Rex.
‘Huh!’ Bunty shoved back his battered sombrero and ran his fingers through his sparse hair. ‘Three dollars, eh? And you’re goin’ to Mesa City out of curiosity! Horned-frawgs! You put that two dollars in yore pocket. I’m drivin’ this here stage to Mesa City after dinner, and I need a shotgun messenger kinda bad. You can earn yore ride.’
‘Shotgun messenger?’ queried Rex. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Guard,’ said Bunty, a twinkle in his eye. ‘You set on the seat with me and hold the sawed-off shotgun; sabe? If anybody tries to hold us up, you shoot hell out of ’em.’