"He didn't go any more than that good-for-nothing flibberty-gibbet of a Riley Tyler or any other of half a dozen chaps," declared Nate.
"Aw right, aw right, have it your own way for Gawd's sake! If you don't shut up, I won't tell you what I think!"
"I'll tell you what I think! I think I'm a idjit to let you stop around my store alla time and fill your fat stomach to the neck with my prunes and dried peaches and sweet crackers, It would be bad enough if you took the salt fellers, but not you. Oh, no, not a-tall. Mr. Herring has to have sweet ones!"
"I like them best," Mr. Herring said matter-of-factly. "Lessee, where was I? Oh, yeah, you had gotten wore to a frazzle by the distance to the Walton ranch, and Bill had started goin' in that direction, himself. Then this winter sometime he stopped goin' to see Hazel, didn't he?"
"She got tired of him—naturally."
"You dunno what happened. Neither do I know. But that they had a fight is as good a guess as any, and Love's young dream went bust. We all thought so, didn't we, and while we were trailin' Bill we didn't take Hazel into consideration a-tall. But what happens to-day when you run down Bill to her face. She slings a knife at you so prompt and free you almost lost four fifths of your looks. She said things too, and all going to show that they've made it up and she's in love again with Bill. Well then, if she's in love with Bill, he's either coming to see her off and on or else she knows where he is."
"Not necessarily. It don't follow a-tall."
"You've soured on the girl, that's all the matter with you. I tell you, Nate, if a girl as pretty as Hazel Walton is in love with a feller, do you think for a minute he wouldn't come to see her sometimes, or anyway let her know where he is? Why, you poor flap, he'd be a wooden man if he didn't do one or both of those things. And Bill Wingo ain't anybody's wooden man. Not that boy. He's an upstandin' citizen with all his brains and legs and arms and fingers and feet, and that's the kind of hairpin he is."
"All that's a heap interesting, but let's hear the point of the joke—if there is one."
"The point is that if a gent was to watch Hazel Walton and her traipsings to and fro, by and by he'd get news of Bill Wingo. And I'm a great li'l watcher myself—especially when there's two thousand dollars reward, like there is for Bill. It's worth some trouble. Tell you, Nate, I'm glad I dropped in here this morning."