that Buck Peters had more cows than he knew what to do with; and he argued rightly that the Bar-20 foreman could find a place for an old friend, whose ability was unquestioned. Of one thing he was certain—there were no wire fences, down there.
It was dusk when he dismounted in front of Logan's, in Kit, and went inside. The bartender glanced up, reaching for a bottle on the shelf beside him.
Youbet nodded. "You got it first pop. Have one with me. I 'm countin' on staying over in town tonight. Got a place for me?"
"Shore have—upstairs in th' attic. Want grub, too?"
"Well, I sorter hope to have somethin' to eat afore I pull out. Here 's how!" And when Mr. Somes placed his empty glass on the bar, he smiled good-naturedly. "That's good stuff. Much goin' on in town?"
"Reckon you can get a game most anywhere."
"Where do I get that grub? Here?"
"No—down th' street. Ridin' far?"
