‘Now that’s funny—he never gets away from that when I see him. That’s one reason I don’t see him a whole lot more. Told you about Bart, of course—’
‘Yes.’
‘Way back in Bismo—’
‘Yes—’
‘And stopped short at Red Ante?’
‘I didn’t hear him mention—’
‘Now that’s queer—nothin’ about a man not bein’ able to wash his hands?’
‘No,’ said Elbert, more mystified.
‘Can’t be it’s dyin’ out of him,’ Mr. Cotton mused, eyes rigid on the flanks of his team, as they wound up a canyon trail. ‘But that ain’t the kind of thing as dies out,’ he added.
At Slim Stake Camp, where the road ended, Mr. Cotton excused himself to write a note to Mr. Leadley, which Elbert was asked to deliver. ‘And don’t let him fill you up none on how bad he’s treated Bart,’ was the last swift injunction. ‘I was along myself in them days and I didn’t miss all that was goin’ on.’