“Hello, Red! What’s the matter? You look pale and sick,” said Neale.
“They wanted to throw me out of thet dance ball,” said Larry.
“Which one?”
“Stanton’s.”
“Well, DID they?” inquired Neale.
“Wal, I reckon not. I walked. An’ some night I’ll shore clean out thet hall.”
Neale did not know what to make of Larry’s appearance. The cowboy seemed to be relaxing. His lips, that had been tight, began to quiver, and his hands shook. Then he swung the heavy gun-belt with somber and serious air, as if he were undecided about leaving it off even when about to go to bed.
“Red, you’ve thrown a gun!” exclaimed Neale.
Larry glanced at him, and Neale sustained a shock.
“Shore,” drawled Larry.