had an unsettled quarrel between them.

In the hotel office Cheyenne purchased cigars and proffered Bartley a
half-dozen. Bartley took one. Cheyenne seemed disappointed. When cigars
were going round, it seemed strange not to take full advantage of the
circumstance. As they stepped out to the veranda, the horses recognized
Cheyenne and nickered gently.

"Going south?" queried Bartley.

"That's me. I got the silver changed to bills and some of the bills
changed to grub. I reckon I'll head south. Kind of wish you was headed
that way."

Bartley bit the end from his cigar and lighted it, as he gazed out
across the morning mesa. A Navajo buck loped past and jerked his little
paint horse to a stop at the drug-store.

Cheyenne, pulling up a cinch, smiled at Bartley.

"That Injun was in a hurry till he got here. And he'll be in a hurry,
leavin'. But you notice how easy he takes it right now. Injuns has got
that dignity idea down fine."

"Did he come in for medicine, perhaps?"

"Mebby. But most like he's after chewin'-gum for his squaw, and
cigarettes for himself, with a bottle of red pop on the side. Injuns
always buy red pop."