At insistence, he
snapped back like an ugly dog.
"Out there somewhere," he snarled. "Go find it! What the hell do I care
where it is? It's mine, isn't it? I paid you for it, didn't I? Well, go
find it! You can have it!"
He tramped vigorously back toward the main street, a grotesque figure
with his red-brown hair tumbled over his white, nervous countenance of
the pointed chin, with his hooked nose, and his twinkling chipmunk eyes.
"He'll hit the first saloon, if you don't watch out," Bob managed to
whisper to Tally.
But the latter shook his head. From long experience he knew the type.
His reasoning was correct. Roaring Dick tramped doggedly down the length
of the street to the little frame depot. There he slumped into one of
the hard seats in the waiting-room, where he promptly slept. Tally sat
down beside him and withdrew into himself. The twilight fell. After an
apparently interminable interval a train rumbled in. Tally shook his
companion. The latter awakened just long enough to stumble aboard the
smoking car, where, his knees propped up, his chin on his breast, he
relapsed into deep slumber.
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