"Oh, I can read," declared Cheyenne. "Before I took to ramblin', I used to read some, nights. I reckon that's where I got the idea of makin' up po'try, later."
"I really beg your pardon," said Bartley.
"No? Well, you ain't the first. Josh and Filaree is the only ones that sabes me. Let's sit in this corner and watch the mescal work for a livin'."
It was a hot night. Sweat prickled on Bartley's forehead. His nose itched. He lit a cigar. It tasted bitter, so he asked Cheyenne for tobacco and papers, and rolled a cigarette. He inhaled a whiff, and felt more comfortable. The Mexicans, who had ceased to talk when Bartley and Cheyenne entered, were now at it again, making plenty of noise.
Cheyenne hummed to himself and tapped the floor with his boot-heel. "She's a funny old world," he declared.
"Miss Dorry's sure a interestin' girl," asserted Cheyenne.
"It ain't a bad country to settle down in, for folks that likes to settle," said Cheyenne.
Bartley glanced sharply at his companion. Cheyenne was gazing straight ahead. His face was unreadable.
"Now if I was the settlin' kind--" He paused and slowly turned toward Bartley. "A man could raise alfalfa and chickens and kids."
"I'm goin'--to-morrow mornin'. And you say you figure to stay here a spell?"
"Oh, just a few days. I imagine I shall grow tired of it. But to-night, I feel pretty well satisfied to stay right where I am."
Cheyenne rose and strode to the bar. After a short argument with the proprietor, he returned with a bottle and glasses. Bartley raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Once in a while--" And Cheyenne gestured toward the bottle.
"We ain't far from the hotel," declared Cheyenne. And he filled their glasses.
"This ought to be the last, for me," said Bartley, drinking. "But don't let that make any difference to you."
Cheyenne drank and shrugged his shoulders. He leaned back and gazed at the opposite wall. Bartley vaguely realized that the Mexicans were chattering, that two or three persons had come in, and that the atmosphere was heavy with tobacco smoke. He unbuttoned his shirt-collar.
Presently Cheyenne twisted round in his chair. "Remember Little Jim, back at the Hastings ranch?"
"I should say so! It would be difficult to forget him."