Farrar had not yet quite discharged his mind. "There's nothing to prevent you from slipping round to the stable and pulling your freight quietly."
"Except that I don't want to," added the new extra. "No, sir. I've got a job and I'm staying with it. I'll sit here like a horned toad till the boss gives me my time."
The camera man beamed. To meet so debonair and care-free a specimen of humanity warmed the cockles of his heart.
"I'll bet you're some scrapper yourself," he suggested.
"Oh, no. He'll lick me, I reckon. Say, what do they hold you up for at this hacienda?"
The lank camera man supplied information, adding that he knew of a good cheap boarding-place where one or two of the company put up.
"If you say so, I'll take you right round there."
Yeager reached promptly for his hat. "You talk like a dollar's worth of nickels rattling out of a slot machine—right straight to the point."
They walked together down the white, dusty street, crossed the outskirts of the old Mexican adobe town, and came to a suburb of bungalows. In front of one of these Farrar stopped. He unlatched the gate.
"Here we are."