Part 5 (1/2)
”That sure excuses me and the hosses. Wishful is down to the Blue Front, all right. It's the only exercise he gets, regular.” Cheyenne pushed back the brim of his faded black Stetson and sighed heavily. Bartley caught a glimpse of a face as care-free as that of a happy child--the twinkle of humorous eyes and a flash of white teeth as the other grinned. ”Reckon you never heard tell of me,” said the rider, hooking his leg over the horn.
I just arrived yesterday. I have not heard of you--but I heard you down the road, singing. I like that song.”
”One of my own. Yes, I come into town singin' and I go out singin'.
'Course, we eat, when it's handy. Singin' sure keeps a fellow's appet.i.te from goin' to sleep. Guess I'll turn the hosses into Wishful's corral and go find him. Reckon you had your dinner.”
”Several hours ago.”
”Well, I had mine this mornin'. The dinner I had this mornin' was the one I ought to had day before yesterday. But I aim to catch up--and mebby get ahead a couple of eats, some day. But the hosses get theirs, regular. Come on, Filaree, we'll go prospect the sleepin'-quarters.”
Bartley sat back and smiled to himself as Cheyenne departed for the corral. This wayfarer, breezing in from the s.p.a.ces, suggested possibilities as a character for a story No doubt the song was more or less autobiographical. ”A top-hand once, but the trail for mine,” seemed to explain the singer's somewhat erratic dinner schedule. Bartley thought that he would like to see more of this strange itinerant, who sang both coming into and going out of town.
Presently Cheyenne was back, singing something about a Joshua tree as he came.
He stopped at the veranda rail. His smile was affable. ”Guess I'll go over and hunt up Wishful. I reckon you'll have to excuse me for not refusin' to accompany you to the Blue Front to get a drink.”
Bartley was puzzled. ”Would you mind saying that again?”
”Sure I don't mind. I thought, mebby, you bein' a stranger, settin'
there alone and lookin' at the dark, that you was kind of lonesome. I said I reckoned you'd have to excuse me for not refusin' to go over to the Blue Front and take a drink.”
”I think I get you. I'll buy. I'll try anything, once.”
Cheyenne grinned. ”I kind of hate to drink alone, 'specially when I'm broke.”
Bartley grinned in turn. ”So do I. I suppose it is all right to leave.
The door is wide open and there doesn't seem to be any one in charge.
”She sure is an orphan, to-night. But, honest, Mr.--”
”Bartley.”
”Mr. Bartley, n.o.body'd ever think of stealin' anything from Wishful.
Everybody likes Wishful 'round here. And strangers wouldn't last long that tried to lift anything from his tepee. That is, not any longer than it would take Wishful to pull a gun--and that ain't long.”
”If he caught them.”
”Caught 'em? Say, stranger, how far do you think a man could travel out of here, before somebody'd get him? Anyhow, Wishful ain't got nothin' in his place worth stealin'.”
”Wishful doesn't look very warlike,” said Bartley.
”Nope. That's right. He looks kind of like he'd been hit on the roof and hadn't come to, yet. But did you ever see him shoot c.r.a.ps?”
”No.”
”Then you've got somethin' comin', besides buyin' me a drink.”
Bartley laughed as he stepped down to the road. Bartley, a fair-sized man, was surprised to realize that the other was all of a head taller than himself. Cheyenne had not looked it in the saddle.
”Are you acquainted with Senator Brown?” queried Bartley as he strode along beside the stiff-gaited outlander.