“Y’u bet, they’re good cigars all right,” broke in the propitiatory Reddy.
The interrupted anecdote went on to a finish and the men trooped out and left the prodigal alone with his hash. When that young man reached the bunkhouse Frisco was indulging in a reminiscence. Reddy got only the last of it, but that did not contribute to his serenity.
“Yep! When I was working on the Silver Dollar. Must a-been three years ago, I reckon, when Jerry Miller got that chapping.”
“Threw down the outfit in a row they had with the Lafferty crowd, didn’t he?” asked Denver.
Frisco nodded.
Mac got up, glanced round, and reached for his hat. “I reckon I’ll have to be going,” he said, and forthright departed.
Reddy reached for his hat and rose. “I got to go and have a talk with Mac,” he explained.
Denver got to the door first and his big frame filled it.
“Don’t hurry, Reddy. It ain’t polite to rush away right after dinner. Besides, Mac will be here all day. He ain’t starting for New York.”
“Y’u’re gittin’ blamed particular. Mac he went right out.”