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Circumstantial evidence rider and rope missing confirmed Hi Wingle's remark that "that there walkin' clothes-pin has probably roped somethin' at last." And the "walking clothes-pin's" condition when he appeared seemed to substantiate the cook's theory. "Lose your rope?" queried Wingle as Sundown limped up. "Uhuh. And that ain't all. You ain't got a pair of pants that ain't working have you?"
At Hi Wingle's suggestion, he "packed a gun" a formidable .45 lent him by that gracious individual, for it grieved the solid Wingle's soul to see so notable a character go unarmed. Sundown, like many a wiser man, was not indifferent to the effect of clothing and equipment.
The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, and puffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' a hundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' down eighty Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleaned up four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke." "Well, you needn't rub it in," said Corliss, frowning. Fadeaway grinned.
Sundown took this as Wingle's final word. The amused Hi noted the other's disappointment and determined to enhance the value of the chaps by making them difficult to obtain, then give them to his assistant. Wingle liked Sundown in a rough-shod way, though Sundown was a bit too serious-minded to appreciate the fact.
"'Bout seventy-three miles, but there's nothin' doin' there. Worse'n this." "Looks like me for a job, or the next rattler goin' west. Any chanct for a cook here?" "Nope. All Mexican cooks. But say, I reckon you might tie up over to the Concho. Hearn tell that Jack Corliss wants a cook. Seems his ole stand-by Hi Wingle's gone to Phoenix on law business. Jack's a good boss to tie to.
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