Didn't he never give you none of them?"
"Who; Jack?"
"That's the whelp."
Bob laughed.
"That's a joke," said he; "I've been bunking with him for a year. Nary
message!"
"I told Carroll and Martin and one or two more to tell you."
"I guess they're suspicious of any but the mountain people," said Bob.
"They're right. How could they know?"
"That's right, they couldn't," agreed George reluctantly. "But I done
told them you was my friend. And I thought you'd gone back on me sure."
"Not an inch!" cried Bob, heartily.
George kicked the logs of the fire together, filled the coffee pot at
the creek, hung it over the blaze, and squatted on his heels. Bob tossed
him a sack of tobacco which he caught.
"Thought you were bound for Mexico," hazarded Bob at length.
"I went," said Pollock shortly, "and I came back."
"Yes," said Bob after a time.
"Homesick," said Pollock; "plain homesick. Wasn't so bad that-a-way at
first. I was desp'rit. Took a job punching with a cow outfit near
Nogales. Worked myself plumb out every day, and slept hard all night,
and woke up in the morning to work myself plumb out again.
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