"Pie? More pie? Well, now—what kind is there left?"
"Apple, and apple, and—apple."
"Huh! Don't like them. Guess I'll take apple. Yes, a small piece of apple would just about finish me off."
Billee Dobb put down his fork and gazed up at the Kid.
"Did I understand you to relate that you was goin' to eat some more pie?" he asked carefully.
"You did—why?"
The veteran rancher arose and, walking over to another table, he seized a bunch of artificial flowers that were set in a vase. Carrying them over to the Kid, he held them reverently out before him.
"My little offering," he murmured, "to one who will be with us no longer."
The diners in the restaurant, all of whom were observing the scene, let out a roar of laughter. It was so ludicrous to see the old puncher indulge in a joke that it seemed twice as funny as if anyone else had done it. Billee Dobb certainly scored heavily.
As the ranchers were leaving the restaurant they passed a Mexican who was coming in. Dick looked sharply at him. Something about the shape of his back seemed vaguely familiar, and the boy was about to say something when Joe Hawkins, who was the last out, exclaimed: