Beta Book

There!" He almost snarled, so weary and discouraged
was he.
Now, Trubiggs was a warm-hearted rogue, and he liked the society
of what he called "white people." He laughed, poked a Pittsburg
stogie at Mr. Wrenn, and consented:
"All right. I'll fix you up. Have a smoke. Pay me the five
Friday, or pay it to my foreman when he puts you on the
cattle-boat. I don't care a rap which. You're all right.
Can't bluff you, eh?"
And, further bluffing Mr. Wrenn, he suggested to him a
lodging-house for his two nights in Boston. "Tell the clerk
that red-headed Trubiggs sent you, and he'll give you the best
in the house. Tell him you're a friend of mine."
When Mr. Wrenn had gone Mr. Trubiggs remarked to some one, by
telephone, "'Nother sucker coming, Blaugeld. Now don't try to
do me out of my bit or I'll cap for some other joint,
understand? Huh? Yuh, stick him for a thirty-five-cent bed.
S' long."
The caravan of Trubiggs's cattlemen who left for Portland by
night steamer, Friday, was headed by a bulky-shouldered boss, who
wore no coat and whose corduroy vest swung cheerfully open.


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