Calumet felt a sudden interest in him. Any man
who could laugh when the world was not doing well with him must be made
of good stuff. But Calumet's interest was cynical and it brought a
sneer to his lips as he ceased laughing and sat loosely in the saddle
regarding the puncher.
"I reckon you ain't got no objections to tellin' me what you're
laughin' at?" he said coldly.
"Mebbe you'd put me wise to the same thing," said the other. "I'm
settin' here, puttin' in a heap of my time tryin' to figger out who got
the most of the six months' wages which I had with me when I struck
town yesterday--an' not makin' a hell of a lot of progress--when you
mosey up here an' begin to laugh your fool head off. At nothin', so
far's I can see. Well, that's what I was laughin' at. Ketch my drift?"
"Meanin' that I'm nothin', I reckon?"
"Meanin' that you was laughin' at it," said the puncher with a
deprecatory smile. "I ain't lookin' for trouble--I'm it!"
Calumet's eyes twinkled. This was a very discerning young man.
"Cleaned out, I reckon," he said. "You look old enough to _sabe_ that
playin' with a buzz saw is mild amusement compared with buckin' a
gambler's game."
"Got singed yourself, I reckon," said the puncher wearily. "You know
the signs. Well, you've hit it. They'd have got my saddle, too,
only--only they didn't seem to want it.
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