“It’s not a town at all, only a postoffice. Immaterial anyway,” explained Calmar, irritably.
The round-faced man unfolded the letter slowly and read aloud:––
“My Dear Sir:––
“Your request, coming from a stranger, is rather unusual; but if you really mean business, I will say this: Provided you’re willing to take hold and stay right with me, I’ll take 68 you in and at the end of a half-year pay $75.00 per month. You can then put into the common fund whatever part of your savings you wish and have a proportionate interest in the herd. Permit me to observe, however, that you will find your surroundings somewhat different from those amid which you are living at present, and I should advise you to consider carefully before you make the change.
“Very truly yours,
“E. J. Douglass.”
Bob slowly folded the sheet, and tossed it back.
“In what particular portion of that desert, if I may ask, does your new employer reside?” There was uncertainty in the speaker’s voice, as of one who spoke of India or the islands of the Pacific. “Likewise––pardon my ignorance––is that herd he mentions––buffalo?”
Calmar imperturbably returned the letter to his pocket.
“I’m serious, Robert. Douglass is a cattle man west of the river.”
“The river!” apostrophized Bob. “The 69 man juggles with mysteries. What river, pray?”