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Updated: June 9, 2025
His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the old horse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it. His watch told him that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield's man was at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out. "No, I can't stay to tea to-day, Mr. Bromfield," the Arizonan was saying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "No use urging me.
Each and every Arizonan predicted clearing. "Why, it almost never rains in Arizona," said Jed Parker. "And when it does it quits before it begins." Nevertheless, about noon a thick cloud gathered about the tops of the Galiuros above us. Almost immediately it was dissipated by the wind, but when the peaks again showed, we stared with astonishment to see that they were white with snow.
But because this was true he did not intend to be outdone in generosity by a successful rival. Promptly and heartily he accepted the invitation. If he had known that a note and a card from Jerry Durand lay in the vest pocket of his cynical host while he was holding out the olive branch, it is probable the Arizonan would have said, "No, thank you, kind sir." The note mentioned no names.
He used his arms to push with rather than to strike blows that counted. The Arizonan could not afterward remember at exactly what stage of the proceedings the face of Jerry Durand impinged itself on his consciousness. Once, when the swirl of the crowd flung him close to the door, he caught a glimpse of it, tight-lipped and wolf-eyed, turned to him with relentless malice.
"Say, don't point that at me," the old fellow implored. "Are you alone?" "I told you I was." "Is Jerry comin' himself with the others?" "They don't none of them tell me nothin'. I'm nobody. I'm only Joey." "Unload what you know. Quick. I'm in a hurry." The man began a rambling, whining tale. The Arizonan interrupted with questions, crisp and incisive.
The clerk looked the raw Arizonan over from head to foot and back again. The judgment that he passed was indicated by the tone of his voice. "Name's on the door, ain't it?" he asked superciliously. "You in charge here?" The clerk was amused, or at least took the trouble to seem so. "You might think so, mightn't you?" "Are you in charge?" asked Dave evenly. "Maybeso. What you want?"
Jerry cursed. He broke into a storm of threats, anger sweeping over him in furious gusts. He had come to make sport of his victim and Lindsay somehow took the upper hand at once. He had this fellow where he wanted him at last. Yet the man's soft voice still carried the note of easy contempt. If the Arizonan was afraid, he gave no least sign of it.
Unshrinkable. This is a qvality town. If you want the best it costs a little more, but you got anyhow a suit which a man might be married in without shame, understan' me." The Arizonan backed off in apparent alarm. "Say, is this a weddin' garment you're onload'n' on me? Do I have to sashay down a church aisle and promise I do?" Mr. Bernstein explained that this was not obligatory.
Of course Manhattan would soon take the color out of him. It always did out of everybody. The city was so big, so overpowering, so individual itself, that it tolerated no individuality in its citizens. Whitford had long since become a conformist. He was willing to bet a hat that this big brown Arizonan would eat out of the city's hand within a week.
Clay traveled in that direction too. They arrived simultaneously. Clarendon backed away. The Arizonan locked the door and pocketed the key. His host grew weakly violent. From Whitford he had heard a story about two men in a locked room that did not reassure him now. One of the men had been this cattleman. The other well, he had suffered. "Let me out! I'll not stand this!
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