The portly individual touched him on the shoulder. "'Nother one, this
afternoon."

"Thanks. But my baggage is on that one."

"You're lucky it ain't two sections behind, this time of year. Travel is
heavy."

Bartley's quick glance took in the big man from his high-heeled boots to
his black Stetson. A cattleman, evidently well to do, and quite
evidently not flustered by the mishaps of other folks.

"There's a right comfortable little hotel, just over there," stated the
cattleman. "Wishful runs her. It ain't a bad place to wait for your
train."

Bartley smiled in spite of his irritation.

The cattleman's eyes twinkled. "You'll be sending a wire to have 'em
take care of your war bag. Well, come on in and send her. You can catch
Number Eight about Winslow."

The cattleman forged ahead, and in the telegraph office, got the
immediate attention of the operator, who took Bartley's message.

The cattleman paid for it. "'Tain't the first time my size has cost me
money," he said, as Bartley protested. "Now, let's go over and get
another cigar. Then we can mill around and see Wishful. You'll like
Wishful. He's different."