"Silent?" inquired the puzzled Whitey.
"Sure, Silent," replied Dan. "That's what we allus called Bill Jordan back in Wyomin'."
"Why, he talks all the time," said Whitey.
"That's th' reason we called him Silent," Dan answered, chuckling.
Whitey did not know that Bill Jordan hated this nickname, and had done his best to leave it behind when he moved from Wyoming, and that when he came to Montana he only got rid of it by licking several cowpunchers who tried to tack it onto him there. But he answered that Bill was very well. When Dan had looked the letter up and down, and behind and before, and over and back, he finally opened it and read it.
But before he had finished it, he was attacked by a violent fit of coughing and choking, and became almost purple in the face. Whitey feared that he might be about to have a fit of apoplexy, which he had heard that stout people are subject to, but Dan gasped out something about going to get a drink, and hurried from the room, and was gone a long time.
Even then Whitey did not suspect anything. He was so pleased with the journey—barring the twenty-five-mile walk—and with the strange experiences he was having, that his mind had no room in which to harbor suspicious thoughts of Bill Jordan. When Dan returned, he seemed better, though his face was a trifle red. He apologized to Whitey, saying that he was subject to such "spells." Then he inquired how Whitey got along on his trip to the T Up and Down.
Whitey described his journey, and Dan seemed much concerned about Whitey's having had to walk the twenty-five miles, and couldn't understand how Bill Jordan had made the mistake of supposing that Cal Smith's ranch was on the stage road. And when Whitey told him that the driver thought Bill was playing a joke on him, Dan shook his head solemnly, and seemed almost about to have another spell, and allowed that Bill suttinly wouldn't play no joke o' that kind.
Whitey had thought that most fat people were jolly, and was surprised to find Dan Brayton so serious. But he thought maybe it was the letter that made him so, for when he looked at it, he wrinkled up his forehead, and coughed behind his hand, and seemed to be considering it very weightily. At last he spoke.