He gave Hashknife and Sleepy a sharp glance, noted their general appearance, and nodded a welcome. Noah needed some one to talk with, and a stranger would be a boon. Hashknife and Sleepy slid into chairs across the table from Noah and gave their order to the waiter.
‘Jist got in, didn’t yuh?’ asked Noah.
‘Not fifteen minutes ago,’ said Hashknife. ‘How’s everythin’ down here?’
‘Kind of a broad question, stranger.’
‘Crime, for instance.’
Hashknife had noticed the badge of office on Noah’s shirt-bosom.
‘Crime? Huh! Ain’t none,’ gloomily. ‘Ain’t been none since me and Lem Sheeley’s been runnin’ the office.’
‘Lem’s the sheriff, eh?’
‘Y’betcha. And he’s a dinger, too. Was a dinger,’ he corrected himself sadly.
‘Somebody plant him?’