continued the singer from the stable.
McClintock tiptoed forward and looked in. A man of Falstaffian girth was oiling a set of harness.
“Ain’t old man Grimes wore out them blue pants yet?” asked Hugh, dropping into the free-and-easy speech of his youth.
The fat man whirled. “Hell’s hinges! If it ain’t Kid McClintock. Where did you drap from?” He fell on the young man and pounded him with his hamlike fists. “Say, I’ll bet Byers’ll be plumb tickled to see you.”
“Byers here, too?”
“Sure as you’re a foot high. That damn railroad done run us outa business. So we got this feed corral here. Didn’t you see the sign: Pony Express Corral, Budd & Byers, Props?”
“You’re sure some prop, Jim. Don’t you reckon you’re most a pillar? By jiminy, you been takin’ on flesh since I saw you.”
“Hmp! Nothin’ of the kind,” snorted Budd indignantly. “Shows what you know. I been losin’ flesh, if you want the straight goods. Pillar, shucks! If you had enough education to outfit a Piute you’d sabe that ‘Props.’ is short for Proprietors. It means we own this here place.”
Hugh registered intelligence. “Oh, I get you. Why, dad gum it, I’m a prop, my own se’f. Freighting and Contracting, McClintock & McClintock, Props.”
“Yes, I done heard you been keepin’ two jumps ahead of the wolf. I reckon that’s why you come to a good town at last.” Budd’s body shook with mirth like an immense jelly. This was his idea of repartee as was repartee.