Now Cal and Slim took his invitation in a queer way. They pawed each other and kept saying: ‘I told you so.’ Could they mean they weren’t regretting they had let him come?
‘I like it here,’ said Slim.
‘I feel like stayin’,’ said Cal. ‘I could eat some of these here dried herrin’ and pickles standin’ up, but I suggests we saunter to a table somewhere and feed on somethin’ firm. I could stay all night—’
Elbert, standing very straight, turned away to the doorway that last moment before the lamp was lighted, and there he beheld his Crimson Foam—the whole West over the horses’ heads, shot with Indian red. It was worth the beginning at Heaslep’s, the struggle with Fortitude, the leather-store and even the years of Eastern schooling. Only he mustn’t fall to telling how joyous he was. Meanwhile Slim and the little fat man were having words. The former turned to Cal with his wronged look:
‘What you goin’ to do with a fellow like this? He keeps hornin’ in with English. Says I called him a horse. Says I mean caballero, not caballo. Wants to know if we’ll have our chickens boiled or fried.’
‘Quickest for me,’ said Cal. ‘Only tell him I ain’t broke off with beans.’
After supper, Cal suggested that they go out to the corral to see if the horses were making out as well as they were. Elbert sat back against a stone. The straw smelled dry and clean; the sky was close and velvety; the three horses were grinding sun-parched corn, a soothing sound; everything expansive and exactly right, only a persistent tendency to be reminiscent, which Elbert checked. Finally at his right, a chuckle from Cal:
‘Slim—’
‘Yep?’
‘For a tenderfoot, I’m sayin’ our young friend Elbert holds his fire-water aloft some successful, don’t you think?’