"Yet when you come here first you was a right sick man, Tom. Now, you're some healthy. Don't that prove the outside of a hawss is good for the inside of a man, like the docs say?" grinned Purdy.
"Tom's notion of real living is sassiety with a capital S," explained Cuffs. "You watch him cut ice at the Frying Pan dance next week. He'll be the real-thing lady-killer. All you lads going, I reckon. How about you, Jim?"
Yeager said he expected to be there.
"With yore friend the rustler?" asked Healy insolently over his shoulder.
"I haven't got any friend that's a rustler."
"I'm speaking of Mr. Larrabie Keller." There was a slurring inflection on the prefix.
"He'll be there, I shouldn't wonder."
"I'd wonder a heap," retorted Healy. "You'll see he won't show his face there."
"That's where you're wrong, Brill. He told me he was going," spoke up Phil triumphantly.
"We'll see. He's wise to the fact that this country knows him for an out-and-out crook. He'll stay in his hole."