Hank rode up, panting as if from a hard run.
“Toss me Kipp’s badge, Hank,” called Tad. “He’s done earned the right tuh wear it.”
From Ma Basset’s kitchen came the savory odor of roast turkey, baking pies and coffee.
In the front room, cotton covers had been removed from plush seated chairs and the place buzzed with conversation, generously punctuated by laughter. Holiday spirit prevailed.
Shorty Carroway, scrubbed, shaved, resplendent in a suit of store clothes, was gradually becoming more red of cheek due to the confines of a shining celluloid collar.
“That red tie uh yourn has slipped up under yore off ear, runt,” confided Tad, also in holiday garb, in a voice that carried the length of the room.
Shorty rescued the truant tie and grinned wickedly.
“Is it the style tuh wear one sock draggin’ low thataway when yuh got low water shoes on, Ox? Swap yuh this here Los Cruces letter uh Joe Kipp’s fer Pete Basset’s pardon paper. Dang me if I ever knowed so many big words could be herded together on one hunk uh paper. This judge gent in Los Cruces shore tells it scary. And them two reward checks fer Fox and Black Jack, man, they runs into real money. Joe ’lows the Black Jack reward goes tuh you.”